Captured
by Singing Fire
Summary: At the Red Wedding, before Robb can die, Edwyn Frey convinces his father to save him for a public execution for Twyin Lannister. But Edmure is also there, and Robb is weak and dying. Can he be saved, and will Edwyn free himself of the Frey influence his family instilled in him...
1. Chapter 1

**I'm surprised that no one's done this plot line yet. I'm a huge hater of the Red Wedding. I wish Robb was still alive. He's one of the last people alive that I actually liked! I like Jon Snow and Dany and Arya, but seriously, Robb was the only guy that I wanted to be king.**

**Anyway, Robb gets captured by the Freys instead and Edmure was also captured. This won't go very far, because I think I'll lose inspiration quick.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Song of Ice and Fire. Seriously, I can never keep track of all the betrayals and webs of lies and plotlines twisting everywhere. It's like ten spider webs piled on top of one another and triyng to follow one strand through it all.**

The calm after the battle sickened Edwyn Frey to the point of omitting.

The hall was littered with bodies, and blood ran like a river. There was a dismembered hand laying not a foot from where he stood.

Forcing back bile, he turned to his father, Lord Walder Frey.

His eyes were intent on one convulsing body, as his life blood streamed through the leather hauberk he wore. Three quarrels jutted from his chest, leg, and shoulder, and he was breathing in fast, sharp gasps. His auburn hair was soaked with blood, and the firelight flickering seemed to make it alive.

Edwyn strode towards the body and kicked his side. It groaned and the head turned sharp blue eyes on him, glazed with shock and pain.

"He's still alive."

Walder Frey turned to his second son and demanded "Then kill him."

Drawing a dagger, he held it above his heart. The man, child more like, closed his eyes and convulsed again, more blood trickling down his side.

The dagger tip trembled over his heart, still furiously pumping blood through his body, struggling to keep him alive. Guilt crushed him, like a boulder landed square between his shoulders, weighing heavy on his heart. Killing in the heat of battle was one thing. Cold blooded murder over a wounded man was different.

He hesitated.

"Do it Edwyn, before I stick the knife through him." His one of his family shouted at him.

Still he hesitated.

The cold blue eyes opened again, and seemed to be begging for release. The gift of Mercy. One swift strike and the pain would leave him,

Finally, he stood from kneeling and said "No."

Lord Walder studied his son like a pig, wondering to kill him now or to kill him later.

"No?" his father asked, sitting forward in his seat. "You useless waste of my seed, you deny your father his wish? I should cut out your tongue for that insult."

One brother stepped forward, eager to please.

"No." Edwyn said. His sense had abandoned him, and Edwyn wondered why he was defending his father and the man o the ground, their wish.

Then, another thought struck him. It would please his father, and possible even Lord Tywin Lannister.

"Why not let him live?" Edwyn asked. Everyone nearby stood and stared at him in horror. Walder laughed outright, but it was the false, high reedy laugh he used to humor the lords of the north that were now lying murdered around him.

"Let this stain on our family live? You mock us, surely Edwyn." One brother asked, roaring with laughter at his jest.

Edwyn shook his head and sad "No jest brother or half brother, whatever you are. This boy is a traitor to the crown. Would a public execution please Tywin Lannister and the King Joffrey?"

The laughter fell silent as his father pondered this thought.

"He might be pleased enough to offer a Lannister, Cersei or maybe his grandson Tommen to the Freys for marriage. We can make deals, for the Lannisters. And if not, then we can kill him here."

A slow, sly smile spread across his father's face.

"I had no clue of your cunning Edwyn. Someone fetch the maester. We would have our guest live long enough to survive a trip to King's Landing. It would not due well to die before a public execution."

One of the younger Freys ran for the hall entrance, calling for the maester.

"And someone fetch that River lord from my daughter. Place him in the dungeon and tell him of his sister's passing. And someone through that wretch in the river."

Two Freys grabbed the lady Stark by her ankles and wrists and stripped her of her fine clothes and jewels as they dragged her to the river.

Edwyn grabbed the boy king's wrist and with the help of another brother, hauled him towards the table as Maester Crass was ushered in, holding his sleeve over his nose as he stepped over bodies.

The man bent over the boy and said "Fetch water and ale and hand me linen bandages. We might save the boy yet."

It was three days after the Red Wedding, as many began to call it. Edwyn strode towards the stairs down to the dungeon, deep underneath the Twins. Edmure Tully sat on the ground, holding his knees to his chest.

As soon as he spotted Edwyn, he ran to the door and demanded "Where is my nephew? Is he alright?"

Edwyn held u a hand and said "he's alive for now, but the fever is making itself worse. He might not survive the night."

Edmure tightened his fists and said "Let me see him."

Edwyn said "Lord Walder had said no visitors. Whether the boy lives or dies, it is no concern to us."

Edmure slammed his fist on the door.

"that is your king Frey! You worthless whoreson!"

Edwyn let the insult slide and said "Be fortunate that Lord Walder hasn't killed you yet, like your precious sister, Lady Stark."

Edmure was seething silently in anger, his hands shaking ad glowering at him.

"I hope you and all the other Freys burn in the seven hells." Edmure growled, turning and sitting back down.

Edwyn turned his back on the man and strode down the hallway. In through another door, lit by dim lamplight, Maester Crass was bent over the injured boy king, who was bleeding and fevered and dying.

"He will not make it through the night Edwyn. The fever is too strong, and the boy too weak."

Edwyn shook his head. He felt no grief for the boy in front of his father, but facing the shivering, fever ridden boy, it reminded him of his own son, when he had been his age and also struck with fever. He hadn't died, but it had been too close. Replace auburn with black and he would look like his own son had.

Clenching fists, he said "make sure he stays alive."

Edmure was sulking in the corner, his grief for his sister overwhelming. Edwyn felt a spark of pity for the man, who had lost his whole family except for the boy lying dying merely doors away.

The pity grew, until Edwyn couldn't stand watching the man for a moment longer.

Fishing a key from his pocket, he strode towards the door.

Edmure looked up as the lock was placed in the keyhole.

"You have a moment with your precious nephew. If anyone hears of this, you and I will both be whipped." Edwyn told him. Edmure stood and made no move to escape, merely turning and asked "Where?"

Edwyn was thankfully taller then the man so he wasn't forced to look at those blue eyes, like the accusing eyes in the hall.

"Three doors to your left."

Edmure nodded and almost ran to his nephew. Edwyn, for reasons he couldn't understand, followed.

Edmure had sunk to the nephew's side, and Maester Crass was trying to console him.

"He might live Lord Tully. His fever is starting to lower and the wounds are stitched as best as they can be. It depends on how strong your nephew is."

Edmure nodded and said "He's strong. He will survive."

He stood and placed a hand on the uninjured shoulder and said "You can live Robb, come on."

Something in the slack face twitched, as if responding to his uncle's voice. Edmure had missed the movement, and turned back to Edwyn.

"Thank you."

Edwyn marched the man back to his cell, and locked the doors tightly. Edmure sank to the floor, his eyes intent on the wall, as if able to see through it.

Shaking his head, Edwyn turned and walked up the stairs, leaving the man and his dying nephew.

**Never said this before, but I love Game of Thrones. LOVE IT! It is totally in the top three best series, with Heroes of Olympus and Percy Jackson.**

**Won't update soon. Probably not. Maybe. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Song of Ice and Fire. Whichever one this is, I'm not sure.**

Since it was entirely Edwyn's idea to capture Robb Stark for public execution, it was obvious that it would be his responsibility to care for Robb and the other prisoners, like Greatjon Umber and even a minor house's son, some young boy named Calem Steele. They would all be bargained off as prisoners, except for Robb and Edmure, who would die unless the Blackfish surrendered Riverrun.

Marching down the steps with a torch in hand, he entered the small cell where Maester Crass had set up his supplies of poultices and such for Robb Stark.

The Young Wolf himself was surprisingly still alive. Edwyn half expected Maester Crass to fetch him in the middle of the night to tell him that the king had died.

Now, he was flushed with fever, and unfortunately awake. Delirious and unable to communicate, his wounds were slowly festering with infection, oozing pus and blood and some sort of clear liquid that made Edwyn's gut turn.

Holding his sleeve over his nose, he asked "How is the wolf pup?"

Maester Crass, wearing his maester's robes soiled with blood heaved a sigh and said "he is faring no better. The infection worsens and the fever is reducing slowly killing him. He cannot be expected to live unless we take him upstairs, were there is clean are and sunlight. He would be expected to make a better recovery."

Edwyn nodded and said "I shall take it up with my lord father. For now, do the best you can for him."

Turning on heel, he strode from the room, and as had become customary, stopped outside Edmure Tully's cell.

Lord Tully was rather bedraggled, dark rings under his eyes as he listened to the half scream half moan sound, the only noise Robb could make in his condition.

"How is he?" Edmure asked, turning his Tully eyes, cold and blue, on him.

Edwyn bowed his head and said "No better."

Edmure nodded and fell silent as another moaning sound echoed through the otherwise silent dungeon.

Edwyn turned and strode upstairs, and nearly ran into someone.

Grabbing their arm, he steadied them from falling before catching a look of their face.

"Roslin, what are you doing here?" he demanded, dragging her back upstairs. Roslin blushed red as an apple and said "I was going to see Edmure."

Edwyn dragged her further into the shadows and he said "Father would beat you bloody if he caught you. Be thankful it was me, and not another Frey."

Roslin nodded her head, and tears pricked at the corners of her brown eyes.

"I'm sorry Edwyn." She whispered, bowing her head "he's just so upset. He grieves for his sister and prays for any gods to save him nephew. He won't survive down there, I have seen it."

Edwyn narrowed his eyes and said "you were forbidden to even enter the dungeon. Why were you in the wolf pup's cell?"

Roslin blushed again and said "He was fighting, half delirious and screaming with pain. Maester Crass couldn't hold him down and change his bandages, so I helped a little."

Edwyn shook his head and said "no more going down there Roslin. If anyone else catches you, father will hear and you will wish you had never made the effort."

Roslin nodded meekly and whispered "I'm worried Edwyn. I wanted to leave, whether it be with the Young Wolf or Lord Edmure. I wanted to escape the Twins."

Edwyn nodded and said "I understand Roslin, but you can't."

She nodded and turned and left, and Edwyn caught the tears streaming down her face before she turned the corner.

Roslin waited until Edwyn had left before approaching the dungeon entrance again. It stank of death and infection even from hear, and Roslin wrinkled her nose again. Slipping the bread and water from under her cloak, she descended the stairs.

It was dark now, Edwyn taking the torch with him and leaving it in the Young Wolf's room. His rattling breathing seemed to come from everywhere, echoing loudly in the silence. She lifted the latch and snatched the key form the hook on the wall. Edmure looked even worse for wear, his head hanging low. Roslin did not understand where the burst of affection came from. Mixed with the sympathy and pity for him. She had seen the lord before, proud and tall and happy. The Freys had brought this man down to as low as he could get. And, no matter what her name was now, she was always a Fry. Part of the murder in the hall.

Kneeling next to her husband, she placed the bread in his hand and whispered "You have to eat Edmure."

He looked up at her with dark ringed eyes and slowly brought the bread to his mouth, chewing and swallowing dryly. She handed him the water skin and he swallowed some of that as well.

She stroked his face, the small beard that started to sprout rough against her soft hand.

"He will live Edmure, he has too. I heard the legends in the Twins. He has the massive wolf at his side, and some say he rides it into battle. He has won every battle he ever fought and is a great leader and a great man. Like his uncle and his father."

Edmure glanced over at her and handed her the half eaten bread.

"Give this to Robb. To keep up his strength." He said his voice a little scratchy.

Roslin nodded and kissed his rough cheek. Patting his head, she stood and left, turning towards the small cell that had the scent of death hovering outside the door. Robb was like a corpse, white and flushed with fever, his wounds infected and dark with blood. Maester Crass looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in many hours. His shoulders were slightly slumped with defeat and exhaustion.

She knocked lightly and smiled at Maester Crass.

"How is he?" she asked, sitting in another chair on the opposite side of Crass.

He bowed his head and said "he his dying. It is surprising he hasn't left this world yet."

Roslin nodded and held the young king's hand, pulling away as it burned the inside of her palm. Like living fire was alit underneath his skin.

She turned to the master and asked "Is there anything we can do for him, something that will save him?"

Maester Crass rubbed tired eyes and studied his patient, and then Roslin.

Slowly, he nodded his head.

"We need to get him upstairs and away from the Twins, somewhere safe and far away from here." He said, bending low over his patient to check his stuttering heart. "We will not live long in these conditions."

Roslin nodded, an idea forming in her mind. But she needed help. Edmure had to escape as well, or hang as a traitor.

"Alright, you get Robb as strong as he can get. I'll handle getting him away from here." She whispered, but little did she know that there was someone listening, with bated breath.

**Dun, dun, duh! **

**If you have a problem with how long this story is, take it up with my manager, invisible George (just for the record, he isn't real).**

**Cause if you have a problem with my story, tell me. Now. Right here, right now, let's GO!**

**Alright, enough chatter. Thanks to my reviewers and thanks for not liking this story. Well, I don't think so. I don't know.**

**I will be back…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope enjoy, this one's a big one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT**

It took two days for Roslin to get everything gathered for the escape attempt from the Twins. Food, blankets, linen bandages and poultices for Robb. It was all hidden in saddlebags and strapped to the two fastest horses in the stables. Maester Crass attempted to help, but he could only leave for a few hours before Edmure was shouting for him, and Robb was moaning and twisting, using up energy he didn't have to spare.

One time, Maester Crass had been sleeping an Roslin was watching him late at night, when no one was awake. Robb had been unconscious, fussing and shifting and moaning in his dreams. He had been having milk of the poppy for days now, keeping him under. Then his eyes had shot open, blinking and dazed, glassy and confused.

"mother." He pleaded, his head twisting around blindly "mother, father, Jon, someone?"

His hand was groping blindly, and as he touched her hand, he seemed to relax slightly.

"Mother?" he said hoarsely, delirious with pain and fever.

"Yes Robb, I'm here." Roslin whispered, stroking his knuckles. He had gone slack, falling limp and breathing heavy.

"Mother, what happened? Where?" he stuttered, struggling to draw breath.

Roslin shushed him and said "you're safe Robb, you're safe now. Your father's here, and Jon and me."

A small smile flitted across his face, weak and tired.

His eyes had fluttered, half closed. She had hummed soothingly, stroking his face. He had passed out again, nodding off peacefully. She breathed a sigh of relief when his breathing evened out a little.

Edmure had visited again, whispering to Robb quietly. Pleading for him to wake for him, to show some sign of life. His fingers twitched, but that was as much as he could do.

It broke her hart to watch them.

Now, in the dead of night, Robb was under three days worth of milk of poppy, and was limp like the dead. Edmure was bound in old clothes, to disguise his appearance.

"Once you're outside, you should be able to blend in as another servant or a peasant seeking shelter. But make sure Robb doesn't speak, he could ruin everything." Maester Crass said, handing Edmure a dagger and a cloth sack with medicines.

"Milk of poppy and something to sooth pain. They should last you until you reach Riverrun." He said, patting Edmure's shoulder.

Roslin nodded and ducked under the cowl of her cloak, feeling a giddy sense of relief welling in her heart. She was leaving! Leaving the Twins for the rest of her life! Never to come back.

Slinging on of Robb's arms over her shoulder, and his other arm over Edmure's, his feet dragged on the ground, and a soft, almost unheard moan escaped his lips.

"Don't worry Robb, we'll get you out of here." She whispered. Edmure held her hand, and she could see gratitude in his eyes.

"Thank you." He whispered.

Nodding, they turned to Maester Crass, who was watching them with a half smile.

She nodded and said "than you Maester. You are a true Maester."

Crass nodded and said "Be careful. Your brothers would be happy to see the Young Wolf dead."

Roslin nodded and with Edmure shouldering most of the weight, little as it was, they exited the cell.

Weaving through hallways, she spotted several captured banner men and north lords watching them walk by, bowing to their king carried between them.

The Great Jon Umber bowed low and whispered "king in the North. Lord and Lady Tully."

It was the first time she had been acknowledged as that, and a warm glow spread through her chest.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Then, the sound of clattering swords and shouting voices.

"Wake up you lot, we're trading some of you pathetic whoresons off to your families." Someone shouted, banging their sword on the stone walls.

Edmure's head flew up and he shared a terrified glance with her. Roslin swallowed her fear and said "Take the dagger and unlock Lord Umber's cell."

Edmure nodded, and slowly shifted the king's weight to her as he raced for the door and drew the dagger.

Robb's head fell on her shoulder, and he muttered something under his breath, to quiet to make out.

"Shush Robb, it's alright." She whispered to him, calming him down a touch. The lock clicked and the door swung open, oddly silent for the rust.

Great Jon Umber was oddly quiet for a man of his girth, stepping from the cell and turning to where a flickering orange light was growing at the end of the hall.

"I'll deal with the bastards. You three stay back and out of the way." He said, taking an empty torch from beside the open cell door.

Roaring, he ran forward and swung the torch, knocking three men into the wall who crashed to the ground. Two others stumbled back in fear, and one drew a sword.

Great Jon bellowed and swung again, knocking another man in the head and he collapsed, blood pooling under his hair.

"I told you they were escaping!" someone shouted. Roslin squinted and recognized Ser Ryman, Stevron's rather stupid son. He pointed his sword at him, the tip shaking. He glanced at Roslin and his eyes grew to the size of coins.

"They're escaping!" he bellowed, pointing his sword at them instead "The King is escaping!"

Great Jon swung his torch and it crumpled as it hit him over the head, and he fell to the ground.

Grabbing the naked sword, he handed it to Edmure and sad "I'll carry His Grace. You stay ahead, Lady Tully stay behind me."

Taking Robb's limp body, he cradled him against his chest like a child as Edmure moved ahead. Roslin hid in the massive shadow, ducking her head and taking the dagger Edmure had dropped.

They burst from the dungeon, and ducked their heads. Edmure hid the blade under his cloak, and Great Jon buried Robb under his massive thick cloak, everything hidden except his shock of red hair.

Bowing heads, everyone moved quietly and swiftly, moving along with the shadows.

"Where the bloody seven hells are you lot off to?" someone shouted after them.

Roslin froze, her heart skipping a beat. Black Walder approached them, the sword sheathed at his side and lurching drunkenly.

Roslin pulled her hood closer over her face and said lowly "the king in the north is dead. Died minutes ago. We're taking him to be buried."

Black Walder blinked stupidly at them, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Well, let's see this body." He said, pulling back the cloak.

Robb was white as a sheet, lying limply in Lord Umber's grasp, cradled by the heavy cloak around him. He made no sound or movement, his eyes half closed.

Black Walder poked his head and studied him closely, his eyes twitching and he said slowly "Very well then. I'll report to Lord Walder of his death."

He lurched away, shouting "The bloody king is dead!"

As soon as Black Walder turned the corner, Robb twitched and muttered, his fingers curling slightly.

"Thank the gods." Edmure breathed, his shoulders slumping. Roslin couldn't believe their luck.

"Come on, the stables." She hissed, leading the way.

Every Frey that passed them demanded what they were doing. Roslin told them the same story, and Robb thankfully looked dead enough to pass under the eye of dead drunk Freys. Soon, word spread and they didn't even need to pull back the cloak.

Soon, they reached the stables, and Great Jon laid Robb on a pile of hay as he saddled up the two horses. A small cart, a little rickety, was attached to her horse, and she passed Edmure the cloth sack to tie as she crouched next to Robb. His breathing was getting deeper, more even in the clean open air. His eyes flickered under his eyelids, and his movements seemed to be losing strength.

"We're ready Roslin." Edmure whispered, and they tied Robb to the cart. Great Jon would ride her horse, and she would sit in the cart with Robb, incase his fever rose.

Slowly and quietly, they set off, the sliver of a moon lighting their way across the dirt beaten road.

Soon, Roslin's eyes were heavy as she swayed in the cart. Robb was oddly silent, but still breathing, and stronger too. Edmure glanced back time and time again, and Roslin smiled at him softly. Now that she was free, with the wind blowing her hair around her, she felt absolutely peaceful. They were free, and safe, and far from anyone else in the Twins.

She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

As she opened her eyes, she blinked sunlight out as she looked around and stretched. Robb was free from the cart, lying under Great Jon's cloak close by. Edmure was sitting, scanning the horizon as Great Jon snored loudly.

Sitting, she scooted next to her lord husband and asked "Are you alright?"

Edmure blinked, but nodded.

"I'll be fine once we're back in Riverrun and away from the Twins. If I see that bastard again, it will be when Robb removes his head from his body."

Roslin lowered her head, and Edmure realized what he said.

"Roslin, I'm sorry, that was your father."

He slammed his fist on the ground and said "It's my fault. I insulted your father and I apologize."

Roslin smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered "but I will agree with you if you ever call him a whoreson, bastard, and might even kiss you if you say his pride is bigger then his breeches."

Edmure grinned at the small pathetic joke and relaxed against her. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

"What's Riverrun like?" she asked, stroking his knuckles. Edmure was staring at the rising sun, his eyes distant in memories.

"It's big, bigger then the Twins. It's also home, with a warm feeling about it. You get a nice view of the Trident, better then at the Twins even."

Edmure went on about his home, and Roslin relaxed.

The peace was shattered when she heard Great Jon ask "You going to let her just sit there without even touching her. Look at her, you blind or something?"

Roslin flushed red and she scooted away, glancing at Robb as he twitched and moaned softly. Edmure glowered at Great Jon and said "We should have left you."

He roared with laughter, and Robb's eyes flew open.

"Robb." She whispered, brushing his hair back as he blinked the sun away.

"Where?" he asked, his piercing blue eyes from the night of her wedding gone, replaced with glazed, confused eyes, delirious with pain.

"You're safe at home Robb, safe at Winterfell." She whispered. His hands twitched and his body was wracked with shivers.

She stroked his head, smoothing the tangled auburn curls that were spotted with blood. He seemed to relax under her touch and the shudders faded.

"mother," he moaned, his eyes closed "I sent you to your grave."

A tear slid down his face and she felt her heart break for the poor boy.

"Robb." She sighed. Edmure was beside her in an instant.

"We have to go. Robb needs a maester, and as good as Great Jon is with an axe, he won't be that great with a fever and wounds." Edmure said.

Roslin nodded and Great Jon stepped forward, swinging Robb up and carrying him to the cart.

It was almost sundown when they spotted the massive fortress of Riverrun; a few hundred tents camped on the outskirts. She recognized the red and gold of Lannister, and knew even some Freys lay in their midst, traitors.

Edmure bowed his head and said "we can't get in this way. It's impossible."

Roslin spotted something in the distance and an idea shot through her mind. It might work…

"Edmure, can you sneak close enough to talk with your uncle. He must still be inside the castle." Roslin said.

Edmure nodded and a smile formed on his face.

"I remember a secret way in, one I used to sneak out with Cat and Lysa when we were young." He said "follow me."

Roslin decided that Edmure's secret route was disgusting.

"you want to wade through this?" she asked, glancing at the frothing brown water, streaks of red blood mixing with the dirt and grime. She spotted something white float past, almost like a foot.

She decided not to ask.

Edmure nodded and Great Jon, slinging Robb over his shoulder, marched on ahead.

"could work." He said simply examining the tunnel "might be a tight squeeze for me."

Edmure nodded and said "come on, it doesn't stink that bad up close."

Roslin found out that it really did. Holding her sleeve over her nose, she breathed "this is crazy."

Edmure grinned at her and said "It's only the river. You never swam in the river?"

Roslin hadn't in fact. She had never learned to swim, her time spent inside where she lived and breathed sewing with her sisters and septa.

Edmure approached the loose stones, and slowly pulled them away one by one, revealing where the river was coming from. A secret passage. The tunnel was only six feet tall, and three feet wide. Edmure went first, taking Robb by the arm as she followed, and Great Jon squeezed in last.

"This should lead to the kitchens. This runs past, where we get our water after it's been cleaned." Edmure said.

Roslin shook out her damp hair and sighed, following.

In the darkness, only a tiny filter of light shone through, here thin stone ha worn away the stone over years. She could make out the Lord Umber's massive shape, Edmure's flaming Tully hair, and Robb swung over Great Jon's shoulders.

Finally the light brightened and the pressing stone walls fell away to reveal a large kitchen, with several men pointing lances in their direction.

Their eyes filled with shock, and one bowed, mumbling "Lord Edmure."

The others followed.

Edmure waved a hand and said "Fetch the maester and my uncle and the queen. His Grace is dying, and his wife might wish to see him."

Two bowed again and raced off, running out of the kitchen as fast as they could in heavy armor.

Edmure was pulled from the river, and Great Jon heaved himself. Edmure offered her a hand and she smiled as she was freed from the stink of the river.

Robb was placed gently on an open table, and Roslin spotted the red stain spreading across his shirt.

"His wounds have opened. Get the maester quickly." She said.

She turned to Edmure and said "Keep pressure on the wound. Ignore his"

Edmure turned and pressed on the center of the russet blood. The scream split the panicked air, and Robb thrashed wildly. Edmure stumbled back and Great Jon's face had gone white.

Roslin took the saddlebag fro the horses, now around her shoulders, and pulled the cloth sack from the maester. Taking the leaves that were wrapped in silk, he placed them in his mouth and watched the juice trickle down his throat. His spasms weakened, and he lay limp on the table.

The first soldier returned with the Blackfish, whose face went white and chalky. He stumbled forward and embraced Edmure tightly, his hands shaking.

"You are alive." he whispered, and Edmure nodded.

"his Grace needs help." Roslin said. The maester had arrived as soon as the words left his mouth, and he said "Carry him upstairs, and someone fetch the queen. Quickly."

A third guard ran for the queen, and the Blackfish followed them up the stairs as Great Jon cradled Robb and carried him as gently as he could up the stairs after the maester.

**Next chapter up soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Meant to say hope you enjoy last time. Anyway, note. First chapter, instead of omitting, I meant vomiting. **

**Stupid auto correct.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire**

Jeyne was in mourning, sitting on her bed with tears in her eyes. She ran a hand over the fur, and she felt them drip off her cheeks and splatter her hands. Robb was gone, dead, murdered by the Freys. The camp had cheered last night, their voices carrying over the city. He was gone, never coming back. She would never have his child, after her mother murdered him. Her sweet, red headed, brave baby boy, so like Robb.

Someone knocked on the door and Jeyne wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Enter."

A soldier, some common soldier, entered breathlessly and said "Lord Tully and his wife have been found in the kitchens, escaping from the Twins. Lord Umber and the king were with them."

Her heart stopped, and Jeyne felt the world spin.

"The king?" she demanded, forgetting herself. The soldier nodded and a grin split his freckled face.

"Stolen right underneath Walder Frey's nose." He said, and Jeyne flew to her feet.

"where is he?" she demanded, tugging a cloak around her shoulders.

"He was taken to the maester. He's in bad shape your Grace." He said.

Jeyne nodded and said "take me to him."

The short walk was longer then ever, her mind and heart racing together, chanting a beat through her whole body.

Robb. Robb. Robb.

He husband, her dear brave husband who almost died for her. Went and fought for his family. She loved him more every day, no matter the grief.

The door was thrown open, and a crowd of people sitting outside. She noticed a small, petite girl with soft brown hair and brown eyes.

She stood and curtsied to her, and said "your Grace, I'm Roslin Tully, Edmure's wife."

Jeyne nodded and said "The honor is mine. Is Robb alright? Is he alive? Can I see him?"

Roslin smiled at her, a small gap in her teeth making her more beautiful.

"He's inside." She said.

She flew through the door, and felt another sob choke in her throat.

He looked horrible, like a breathing corpse. He was white and thin, so very thin. His cheeks were flushed, and she would believe him dead except for the twitch of his fingers and the slow rise and fall of his chest. His shirt and been stripped, revealing three arrow wounds in his shoulder and chest, and a mark from a dagger close to his heart.

She was beside him in an instant, her hand clutching his. His fingers, weak and thin, tightened around her hand. A tear hit his hand and she wiped it away furiously.

"Robb." She whispered, stroking his head. He leaned into her hand slightly, his slack face flickering for a moment.

Edmure Tully was beside her, holding her shoulder.

"We're going to take his bandages off now. Would you like to leave?" he asked,

Jeyne shook her head and said "no thank you, I would rather stay."

Edmure nodded and stepped back as the maester cut through the brown bandages.

The four gaping holes in his chest made her swallow, the smell coming off them making her eyes tear. Bile rose in her throat, yet she swallowed and breathed deeply. Robb tightened his grip, tossing his head back and forth.

"Mother." He whispered, and her heart ached for him. Her grief threatened to overwhelm her, but she had to stay strong. Robb needed her.

The maester bent over the wounds and said "they are infected, badly infected. We need to clean them and stitch them again. It might hurt though."

Jeyne didn't know who he was talking to, but she nodded and felt something nudge her shoulder. She turned and Edmure passed her a cup of water. She nodded her thanks and opened Robb's mouth slightly. The clean water trickled down his throat, and he swallowed painfully. His mouth parted again, begging for more.

She poured the remains of the water and relaxed as his muscles seemed to unclench.

His eyes opened partly, a sliver of blue and he whispered "Jeyne."

She held back tears and leaned close to his head.

"Robb, you're going to be alright." She told him, holding his hand.

Robb lifted his head slightly and looked around confused.

"What, what happened? I remember a cross bow bolt and pain and that's it."

He turned to her and asked "where's my mother?"

Jeyne stroked his head and said "I will tell you later. After the maester cleans and stitches your wounds."

Robb glances down at his bare chest for the first time, russet with blood and turning black with the opens wounds.

"your Grace, bite down on this." The maester said, handing him a thick rolled up cloth. Robb takes it in his teeth and as the maester raises the blade, the Blackfish grabs his shoulders and forces him down.

"sorry your Grace." He muttered quietly.

The blade was brought down and Jeyne was frozen as he cut away at the ruined stitches. Robb's muffled screams were the only noise, seeming almost loud in the silence. Jeyne watched quietly as the cold steel blade touched the mess of muscle and tendons and skin and bone beneath. Robb screamed in agony, and her heart thumped loudly, reverberating through her skull like a bronze bell.

His hand, clenching hers tightly, went slack and thudded onto the bed. His eyes slid shut and his screams fell silent. The maester continued dutifully, opening the wounds to clean them better, black with infection as they were. Then he re-stitched the bleeding wounds and wrapped them, placing poultices gently underneath the white linen, a red stain spreading slowly across the white cloth.

Jeyne's hands were shaking as she stood and brushed his sweat drenched hair from his closed eyes. He looked so weak and thin, almost a different man from the one she had watched leading his men into battle.

The Blackfish took her by her shoulder and lead her towards the door, where Roslin was already standing in wait.

She turned to the young girl, near her age and said "thank you for saving him."

Roslin nodded and offered her a strained smile.

"you're welcome your Grace."

Edwyn couldn't believe it. He knew his father didn't believe Black Walder either, drunk as he was. Stumbling around raging and celebrating that the King in the North was dead.

Edwyn pinned him to the stone wall outside the study and demanded "what do you mean he's dead?"

Black Walder sighed, his breath stinking of alcohol and wine. He managed to focus his eyes on Edwyn for a moment and said "saw them carry out his body myself. Not breathing, not moving, nothing. They were taking him away to be buried. A giant, a red head man and a woman."

Edwyn shook his head. The King in the North had held on for almost a week now, why would he suddenly die, and why had Maester Crass not come fetch him like he had ordered if the king had passed.

"did you see the body? Check his heart to see if it still beat. Or did you wave them along and searched for a girl to warm your bed?"

Black Walder laughed and said "threw back the cloak they carried him out in. white as snow, not a peep out of him. The woman herself said he was dead."

Edwyn nodded slowly and said "well, you go find some Frey men able to walk in a straight line and you find these people and the body. I want to check them for myself."

He released his grip and Black Walder slid to the ground, rubbing his arm.

He strode to the masester's keep, where Maester Crass was feeding his ravens.

The maester was surprised to see him, stumbling back in shock.

"Edwyn?" he said, straightening his grey maester robes, still stained with blood "I was not expecting you."  
Edwyn stepped in and said "I ran into Black Walder tonight, and he informed me that the King in the North had died tonight."

Maester Crass nodded and said "yes, he has left this world. May the Father judge him justly."

Edwyn looked at the maester and said "you were ordered to come to me first with the news if the young wolf had died."

Maester crass fiddled with the robes and said "well, I decided that the new could wait till morning."

"The news that our hostage, the only one keeping the river lords and remains of the north from marching to the Twins and burning it to the ground, has died, and that you decided that it could wait till morning."

Maester crass nodded, not meeting his eye as he said "yes lord Edwyn."

"And you called for a red head man, a young woman and a giant man to come carry his body to be buried." He continued, seizing the maester by his robes and shoving him to the ground.

"we could have had his head over the gates, to tell all that House Frey will take its toll, one way or another." Edwyn said. The maester looked him in the eyes and said "you would not give a young dead boy the respect of having his body sent home?"

Edwyn then realized that he wasn't dead.

"You helped him escape." He said in a low voice. His father would skin him alive, and they would be forced to march on Riverrun immediately. Take it and capture him again and send him south for the wretch king Joffrey.

Maester Crass stood and said "I have served House Frey for near two and forty years. I was ordered to save him by you and your father, and ordered to help him escape by another Frey."

Edwyn clenched his fist, his fear rising of giving the news to Lord Walder.

The next morning, Maester Crass's body swung from the rope, just inside the gates and gave off a retched smell. Edwyn held his hand over his nose and rushed past it, feeling the accusing, cold dead eyes following his movements and burning into his back as he passed.

Following the familiar stone steps, he entered Lord Walder's room, and was faced with the man himself.

"I have ordered for a new maester since this one decided that it was stupid to realize my daughter, her prisoner husband and his little king nephew and that northern giant had all escaped for Riverrun." Walder said, his eyes watching Edwyn sit in a wooden back chair.

"My lord, we have told the Freys in the siege camp and they have sent someone over, disguised as a soldier to take the king and bring him back. They spotted lord Edmure and Lady Roslin and the Lord Umber taking the king through a secret passage to Riverrun, hidden in the wall." He said.

Lord Walder studied his son for a moment and nodded his head slowly.

"We will take this whoreson back, hang him by his feet from the battlements, and tell the world that the Freys are not a family to be crossed."

Edwyn nodded and stood, bowing to his father.

As soon as the heavy iron oak door shut behind him, Edwyn released a breath he never realized he had been holding. His father's voice had been colder than the bitter winds blowing through the river lands, smelling of the coming winters.

Edwyn strode through the cold stone halls, finding his quarry leaning against the door, looking around in a drunken stupor.

"Black Walder." He said, and his brother's head shot up to look at him.

"dear brother, what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in a drawl, managing to climb to his feet.

Edwyn forced him down and said "you will go and sleep off last night's ale, go to the dungeons and find sir Ryman. He went to go get prisoners for trade and he never came back up. Take some cousins with you."  
Black walder nodded and climbed to his feet again.

"And prepare the king's cell. He will be back in our good graces soon enough."

Black walder nodded and the sickest smirk spread across his face.

He was deep in the woods, racing past trees and leaping over fallen trunks, his eyes following the light of the moon, and the dancing yellow firelight glinting dimly ahead. His paws were caked with dirt and mud and blood stained his pelt russet. The limp in his hind leg was worsening, the sharp metal points of the quarrels digging deeper into his sides, grazing bone.

Finally, he broke free of the trees and studied the clear valley below.

There were thousands of fires, glowing like fallen stars amongst the black tents and moving shadows. It was almost unnatural compared to the calm serenity of the woods. He crept forward, pressing his body low to the ground and ignoring the pain that it brought him as the quarrels dug even deeper. A growl built in his throat as his spotted the Lannister banner, snapping in the cold wind. A roaring lion was no match for a snarling pack of wolves.

A soldier on duty was sitting with his back to the fire. He was alert, his eyes scanning the valley and the tree line above, searching for any sort of threat. A spear was held tightly in his gloved hand.

Without giving him time to shout, he pounced on the man, tearing out his throat when he saw the horrified scream building in his chest and ready to be loosed in an ear splitting sound.

Warm blood turned his muzzle darker red, the metallic rusty taste washing over his tongue. The bone crunched under his teeth, tearing muscle and skin.

Leaving his dead prey behind, he crept closer to the camp, his eyes intent on the camp. No more guards were stationed nearby. Why would there. No more threats with the young wolf dead and his army with him.

The thought of the boy who was his companion, bleeding and dying, his eyes turned to him, desperate for any slim chance for life, for safety. He was forced to turn his back, leave him behind and he heard the scream of betrayal and pain, felt it deep in his bones even after the tall menacing stone towers were out of sight.

Turning his mind from his grief, he focused instead on the camp. They killed his companion, the boy they called Robb. They killed him, now he would kill them.

Racing forward, he howled and tore a tent from the ground, pouncing on a screaming horse and sinking his claws in their back. It bucked once and collapsed, his body too weak to stay standing. He left the dying horse, tackling three men with spears and bite and clawed and snarled. The ground ran red with blood, like another place with his companion, still and cold.

This was for his companion.

He spotted the man with the golden hand quickly, a sword held tight in the frozen yellow fingers. Some hate, deep in his heart and mind, told him that this man was an enemy; this man should be dead or in chains.

This man was a Lannister, the red banner and the golden lion roaring proudly on his chest.

He snarled at the man, and he saw a sliver, the smallest sliver of fear in his eyes. It was enough.

As he tensed his legs, a cool breeze blew, carrying with it a scent, so familiar, it couldn't be true. He had died at the stone tower, with the rushing river masking their screams. The bloodbath that had killed them all.

He turned from his prey, snarling one last time for the hatred burning like a fire deep in his chest. Then he ran for the other stone tower, dark and silent.

He ran for the drawbridge, and howled at the gate. He saw men pointing and shouting, but his only thought was the window, the open window with the wide brown eyes and soft brown hair his companion had loved second only to him. This woman knew his companion, had loved her dearly. She carried his scent, his blood on her hands, his furs over her shoulders.

Another man stood at the window, with greying hair and sharp blue eyes.

"Lower the gate, quickly!" he shouted, and the heavy wood started to sink to the ground.

Before it was even low enough for a man to jump to, he tensed his legs and jumped, clearing the very top and landing lightly on his feet on the stone ground.

Two soldiers near the gate jumped back in surprise as he landed silently, only his nails clicking on the stone ground. They both wore a trout on their chest, leaping from red and blue waters. He ignored them and padded off, his nose and ears leading the way. He lost himself in instinct.

Winding through long stone halls and vast, echoing halls, it was almost like a stone labyrinth. He was utterly lost, following the scent of blood and rust, which led him to several rooms of groaning men who shouted in fear. He ignored them. One glance around, he wasn't there.

Finally, a the scent got stronger. Turning his padding into a run, his paws ate up ground as he tore through the castle.

The door was closed, and he couldn't stand this simple piece of wood standing between him and his companion. He scratched at the door, and a small figure opened it.

The sight of his companion, lying limp on a bed, sent a warm feeling flooding through him, warming him better than the sun in his pelt or the hand in his fur. He padded forward slowly, watching his still sleeping face. He was thin and weak, pale and shivering. His neck and face were flushed, and the scent of death lingered in the air.

A single hand, limp and lifeless, hung over the bedside. He butted the hand, and stiff fingers closed around his head. He crouched and laid his head on the bedside, whining in mourning. His heart was crowing with joy, but weighed down with worry for his life.

He spotted the twitch in his face, muscles moving under the skin, before any of the humans in the room. The twitch of his eyes, the twist of his fingers, his mouth moving slightly. A soft sigh escaped his lips, relieved. Though he would not open his eyes, he knew that his friend was with him.

**Meant well, really liked writing Grey Wind's POV**

**REVIEW IMPORTANT! I don't want to beg for them, I think it unsults myself, but if you review I won't hate you.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm not one for author's notes, but thanks to the suggestions of reviewer MB18932, I'll try to get some transition warnings in. And thanks to Phoenixflames12 for the very nice review. I loved writing Grey Wind's POV, and no one else seems to do it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except for Maester Crass. May the Father judge him justly.**

**ROBB POV**

The first feeling Robb became aware of was touch.

It came slowly, painfully slow, but any sort of change was welcome. He was unthinking, unfeeling, motionless. Like someone had frozen him in ice, and his mind was frozen along side it. Was this death?

Soft fingers were running through his hair, tracing his face, stroking his knuckles. He was far too weak to open his eyes, to move his lips to speak, to lift his arms. He was trapped in a never ending blackness.

Another feeling was under his left hand. Soft fur in his stiff fingers, sometimes a rough tongue on his hand. He knew Grey Wind was with him. Knew it the same as that his name was Robb Stark. His faithful direwolf, his friend was with him.

Slowly, his whole body became aware of touch. Cool breezes across his flushed face, scratchy blankets pulled over his body in nervous habit. Pillows under his head. Tightly wrapped bandages around his chest, which burned and it was painful even to take too deep a breath.

Next came sound. Like his ears were full of water and he just lifted his head into open air. His own breathing was loud in the quiet room. Sometimes Jeyne's soft voice whispered to him, telling him anything and everything going on while he was frozen there. The camps outside, Grey Wind's arrival, their escape from the Twins. His uncle's wife had helped them, the shy Frey girl. Sometimes she told him about how worried she was, and once she had begged for him to open his eyes again.

He had opened his eyes? His memory was fuzzy, with black spots where as hard as he tried, there was no memory to be found. After the Twins, he remembered burning pain, and a grey beard and soft brown eyes. After there was movement, when before there had been none. He had no idea how he even got to Riverrun.

Grey Wind made no sound. He made no movements, except to lick his hand sometimes, as if to comfort him. Once he had been taken away, and the strength left his limbs, his breathing stuttering, his heart slowing its beat. He came back later, with rough bandages where the maester had bound his wounds. The thought that anyone tried to hurt him made red hot anger course through him, and his fingers twitched.

Smell followed sound, the smell of Grey Wind with no baths, trekking through miles of wood and water. His own wounds, infected, and the smell of his blood hung heavy in the air. It made his nose wrinkle once, when Grey Wind placed his head right beside his. Jeyne had laughed and the sound made his heart lift.

Taste came next, the taste of blood in his mouth, and rust coating his tongue with ever painful swallow.

Finally, the blackness vanished, and he saw a faint red. He realized it was his eyelids, and he tried to open them.

The after was more then it once was, his eyes felt like trying to lift Greatjon with one arm.

As soon as his eyes flew open, he blinked sunlight from his eyes and groaned softly.

Grey Wind's head flew up, and he felt his head butt against his leg.

"Robb." The relief Jeyne's voice carried made him turn to her, where she smoothed down his hair and planted a kiss on his cheek.

His head was spinning with the effort of waking, but he managed "Jeyne, are you alright?"

Jeyne laughed, a tear welling in her eyes. "You lay on your deathbed for days and as soon as you can you ask about me. Yes Robb, I'm fine. You're fine.'

She smiled and Robb smiled at her too, looking around again.

"What happened?" he asked, his left hand petting Grey Wind, his right hand holding Jeyne's.

Jeyne smiled again and said "You were captured at the Twins, but Lady Tully and Lord Edmure escaped with Greatjon and you. You've been dying with fever for almost a week. You almost bled to death when the maester cleaned and re-stitched your wounds."

Her eyes flew from his and she whispered "It was worse then at the Crag. You were shivering and screaming and bleeding and dying. You were so weak Robb; you looked like a breathing corpse."

She released his hand and Robb reached and grabbed it.

"I'm alright Jeyne. More importantly, you're alright. We're going to make it through this war, and we will go back to Winterfell, and rebuild it from the ground up. You'll be an amazing mother."

Jeyne smiled and Robb leaned his head back.

"Sleep Robb, you are too tired to continue talking for my sake." Jeyne whispered, and his eyes closed and he slipped away, life before war and his family was whole.

**SANSA POV**

Her mother…her brother…her dear sweet mother dead.

Swiping the tears from her eyes, Sansa raised her head and tried to mask the grief in hr eyes. First her father, now her eldest brother would die at the hands of a headsman, like his father before him.

Joffrey had come to crow about it himself, launching into the details of her mother's death and how her brother was inches from death himself, so Lord Walder Frey wrote in his letter about the massacre. His wife hidden behind Riverrun, where the remains of his army lay as the siege with Joffrey's uncle laid waste to the area surrounding it.

Sansa pinned the silver direwolf pin under her cloak, over her heart. She would go pray for her brother and her mother and father. The godswood for her brother first, since he was still breathing. Then her father and mother in the septa.

The dead could wait.

She marched, head bowed under the hood of her cloak. She left her room and left the Red Keep unopposed, thankful for meeting no company.

As she strode past the massive white trees, their blood red leaves like dead hands, reaching for her, she felt like she was back home, in Winterfell. She could imagine a cold breeze blowing through here, and her father and mother waiting for her back in the castle, Robb and Jon fighting with wooden swords, Bran and Rickon watching. Arya would sneak away from the septa to watch, and Sansa would reprimand her and everything would be peaceful.

Far from King's Landing, where death was around every corner, Ser Payne carrying her father's sword and smiling at her gruesomely. Joffrey with his twisted wormy lips pulled back in a sneer.

Sansa bowed her head and hurried along faster.

Kneeling at the heart tree, she bowed her head and imagined a face carved into the trunk, like the face at Winterfell, old and wise.

"I have never sought you out before, but I plead with you now. Save my brother, keep him alive. He's my family, maybe my only family left. He has a wife, maybe a little unborn baby. I need him to save me, march into the castle and cut off Joffrey's over sized head. Please old gods, the new gods have left me."

She felt the tears pricking her eyes and she let them fall now, in the secluded privacy of the godswood.

"What are you doing here little bird?"

Sansa flew to her feet and turned quickly, watching the Hound leaning against a bone white tree. He didn't smile in mocking, or frown with disapproval. His face was a mask of stone, devoid of emotion or thought.

Sansa curtsied as was proper and said "Ser, I came to pray for Joffrey's reign as king to be peaceful and fruitful."

The Hound snorted and said "Yes, like there's no war marching towards the gates. Come along little bird, the king has need of you again."

Sansa went along meekly, following the Hound step for step.

"I heard what you were really praying for."

She jumped, and faced the Hound. His eyes were like ice, not in color, but froze her insides just the same.

"What?" she asked, forgetting her courtesies for an instant.

The Hound looked her over head to toe and said "For your brother to cut off Joffrey's over head off. That he lives and marches on the capital, freeing you from the queen."

Sansa blushed and bowed her head.

"My brother is a traitor, so is my dead mother. I pray for Joffrey's reign to be long and peaceful." She muttered, curtsying again. "Ser."

The Hound snorted and said "Wish someone would give His Royal Highness a good cuff over the head. Gods know how many times I've had to stop myself from doing so."

Sansa turned her eyes on the Hound and asked "Really?"

The Hound smirked at her and said "As much as someone wishes for her brother to kill the little worm."

Sansa smiled at the Hound; hopeful that maybe she had an ally in the place.

The walk back was quick, the Hound leaving her before the gates.

As she walked back, someone fell into step beside her.

"My lady." A voice form her waist said.

She jumped and curtsied again.

"Lord Tyrion." She said.

Tyrion nodded and said "You pray for your brother?"

Sansa stiffened and said "I pray for King Joffrey."

Tyrion nodded and said "Yes of course. My dear nephew could do with a bit of praying, even if for his untimely demise."

Tyrion turned to her and said quietly "I have news from the river lands, which I thought would make you more hopeful."

Sansa nodded, unsure if this youngest Lannister was jesting. Tyrion often confused her. He was loyal to Lannisters, but also disliked Cersei and Joffrey.

"Your dear rebel has escaped the Twins where he was held with your uncle and his wife."

Her heart soared and she struggled to control her face to one of sadness.

"That is horrible my lord. That means that the Freys cannot bring him to King's Landing for his execution." Sansa said, curtsying to Lord Tyrion.

"I thank you for the news my lord."

Tyrion gave her a smile, rather twisted, and said "I work to please my lady. May he be in your prayers."

He left, and Sansa leaned on the wall.

"Robb. Save me." She whispered in quiet prayer, hoping some god was listening.

**MEANWHILE…**

A cold wind blew over Riverrun, flames flickering in the siege camps below. All was dark in the hulking castle, and many slept peacefully.

A single soldier strode through the halls, his face hidden in shadow. A dagger was sheathed at his side, and a naked sword held in his fist. The trout on his chest seemed like an insult to the proud and noble house.

He crept long the halls, searching for one room in particular. His mission had been clear. Get in, get the king, and get out undetected. If anyone found the king missing while he was in the castle, he would most likely be dead. And he was far from done with life yet.

Finally, at the end of yet another long stone hallway, a flickering torch was spotted. The room was silent, the young girl sleeping in her chair beside the unconscious king and his sleeping direwolf. He stepped forward silently, almost like a shadow. He pulled free the dagger, the soft sound unheard in the room.

Suddenly he was on the ground, a direwolf snarling in his face. The heavy animal growled, his claws digging painfully into his chest, his yellowed teeth bared at him.

Twisting his arm free, he sunk his dagger into the wolf's side.

He shoved the wolf aside and realized that the queen was awake.

"G" she shouted as his hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, and her husband stirred to his right.

"Be nice and quiet your grace, and I might now stick your husband in the rib." He hissed softly. Taking some rope, he tied her wrist and ankles to the chair and gagged her. The wolf snarled and tried to pounce at him, but he dodged and the wolf skidded, eyes narrowed in hatred. He brandished his sword and opened the door behind him.

"Come on wolf." He snarled at him. The wolf crept forward, slinking almost like a ghost across the stone and pounced at him again.

He dove right and the wolf sailed out the door, spinning on paw and howled loudly.

Heaving the boy in his arms, he waited for the wolf to pounce, legs tense. The king was limp like the dead, his eyes struggling to open.

Jeyne screamed again as the wolf pounced, and he side stepped, leaving the wolf alone with the queen girl.

He stepped out of the room, locking the inside and slamming it shut.

Several guards had come running at the wolf's howl. One asked "What happened?"

He breathed heavy and said "someone snuck in the castle, to kill the king. I grabbed him, but the wolf and the queen are locked in the room. The man was wearing the Frey sigil."

The man in front of him nodded and said "Take the king to the maester. We'll get the queen."

He nodded and forced back the smile tugging at his lips. These men were truly stupid.

He walked past the men, turning left at the corridor. He carried the unconscious king downstairs, down to the kitchen where he would make his escape.

The king's eyes eventually flew open, and he forced himself away from him, coming up kneeling.

He was breathing heavy, blood blossoming across the crisp white linen tied across his chest.

"Who are you?" he demanded, a commanding tone in his voice and an air of authority that demanded respect even weak and bleeding and on his knees.

"I'm nobody." He said. His mailed fist sailed down and the king crumpled, collapsing to the ground, a gash from his mail starting to bleed.

He heaved the king up again and carried from down, to the rivers.

His horse was waiting for him outside, pawing the ground. He slung the king over the saddle and mounted the horse. Spurring him on, the horse set off at a gallop, the castle shrinking in the distance.

**NO! ROBB! **

**Reviews accepted, thanks to people who read.**

**Question: why does the number of viewers go down as you update the story?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own song of ice and fire or game of thrones.**

**RUGOR POV**

Curse that low born bastard. Curse the gods above. Curse himself.

He slammed his fist on the wall and bit back another stream of curses from flooding his lips.

Queen Jeyne was sitting on the bed, her fists clenching the wolf's fur as he growled and scratched at the ground.

He remembered his face, as clearly as his own mother's dark grey eyes, ratty face, uneven cut light brown, and a small pointed beard covering a scar on his chin. He wore the Tully colors across his chest, and the king was carried in his arms.

He slammed his fist again and said "I am sorry Your Grace. I let the lowborn bastard go. I thought, I thought…"

The queen nodded quietly and said "You had no idea."

She looked up at him and said "They were the Freys; I have no doubts about that. They will be riding for the Twins now. We may catch up with them."

Rugor looked up at her and blinked.

She stood, her hand buried in the wolf's fur.

"You ride hard, for the twins. Catch this man and save my husband. Once they get to the Twins, there will be no way of getting my husband until they make for King's Landing, to remove his head."

She stepped closer with every word, until she was inches from his face. Her eyes narrowed and she said "Will you save your king?"

Rugor nodded and said "I'll set out now. Your Grace."

She nodded and said "Take Grey Wind with you."

The wolf snarled from behind her, nails scratching at the stone ground.

Rugor shook his head and said "He'll eat my hand off before catching this bastard."

Jeyne looked back to the wolf and crouched beside him.

"Help Rugor save Robb. Don't hurt Rugor, he's helping find Robb. Grey Wind, save him for me."

The massive wolf looked from her to him, as if contemplating. He bowed his head once. Jeyne took this as a good sign and hugged the massive wolf's neck.

"Grey Wind will work with you." She said, standing and straightening her dress.

"Now go."

Rugor nodded briskly and left the room, the wolf trailing at his heels.

People stared as he strode through the halls of Riverrun, the massive wolf snarling at any that stared to long.

Maybe he would help after all.

The ride on horse was tiring. The moon barely lit the path through the trees, but the wolf seemed to know the way. Like a silent grey shadow, he raced through the forest, making no sound. No twigs broke underfoot, no scratching of nails on stone.

Like a ghost.

It sent shivers down his spine when the wolf looked back at him, yellow eyes like the moon in the darkness. He gestured his head, as if too say 'this way, and hurry up."

He could only go slowly. The ground was riddled with roots that would lame his horse as fast as he could spur him on.

Suddenly, there was an arrow passing inches form his nose, and the horse shivered underneath him.

He stopped and turned to the arrow, embedded in the trunk a hand's breath from his face.

"Look you bastard, you missed!"

Several bandits stepped from nowhere, carrying weapons and various pieces of armor for both his side and the Lannisters.

On carrying a bow spit at one man's feet and said "Shut your lips you. We got the bloody fucker to stop. Now we'll see what he ahs for trade of his life."

He drew the sword at his side and the bandits circled closer.

"Grey Wind!" he shouted, seeing the silent beast no where in sight.

"What's that you shouting? Words for help from friends? No friends are going to help you here. Hand over that mighty fine sword of yours, and we won't gut you with it." A huge man said, cracking his knuckles.

A man in a yellow cloak said "Is this how we treat decent men around here? Look at his sigil, the leaping trout of Tully."

Suddenly, there was a flying blur of grey and the massive wolf was in front of the yellow cloak man, snarling in his face.

The arrow man strung an arrow and drew faster then he could blink, but didn't fire.

"Get the bloody hell off of me!" yellow cloak shouted as Grey Wind's bloodstained muzzle inched closer, yellow teeth bared.

"Grey wind." He called, and the wolf came to his side patiently.

Yellow Cloak scrambled to his feet and dusted off his cloak.

"Well, I just saved your life form ending as a wolf's dinner. You owe me my life." He said, pointing to the wolf, still snarling and growling beside him.

The arrow man kept his arrow pointed at Grey Wind, but his fingers were shaking.

"What unnatural beast is this lad?" arrow man asked.

"Grey wind." Rugor told him firmly. "Not beast."

There was a hissing sound from behind him and everyone's heads flew to the sound.

A woman in a dark cloak strode forward, grey hands sliding from underneath the sleeves. A bronze and iron crown was clutched in one fist, fingers tracing the base of the crown.

"His crown." He whispered.

Yellow cloak turned to him and asked "whose crown?"

Rugor shook his head, unbelieving.

"The crown of King Robb."

The creature in the cloak hissed louder, and one man in red said "Don't say that name, she says. Or we'll be forced to kill you anyway."

"King Robb eh? Well, my lady's been asking us to help kill some men for her son's murder, and she has this king boy's crown." Yellow cloak said.

"What is that thing?" he asked, and Grey wind padded over to her.

He nuzzled her side and licked her like a puppy. A grey hand gently patted his head and the hood was pulled back.

The face was bloated, white and puffy, with dark red scars trailing down her face. Her throat was slit to the pearly white bone underneath, and her hair was white and brittle. But he knew that face, distorted as it was.

"Lady Catelyn Stark." He whispered.

She made no sound, but held her hand over her slit throat and hissed something.

"Captain Rugor, she says." Red man said.

He dismounted from his horse and knelt before her.

"My lady, I have news for you. Your son, the king is alive. Taken captive at the Twins. He escaped, but someone broke into the castle and took him back."

Lady Catelyn's face was devoid of emotion, and she titled her head back and a high pitched gurgling noise. Her mouth stretched in a gruesome spectacle of a smile and she gurgled again.

"She's happy. She's laughing!" yellow cloak shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm hunting down the king, he was kidnapped again my lady. Queen Jeyne commanded me to find him."

The smile disappeared and her face turned back to it's bloated, white puffy appearance and she hissed something loudly.

The red man said "We will help you save her son. We aim to serve her ladyship."

Rugor nodded and mounted his horse.

"Come, we can still catch him before the Twins."

**MEANWHILE, MILES AHEAD…**

The Twins loomed silently out of the pre-dawn gloom, like a ghost castle from songs. He spurred his horse on faster, one hand on the king's back to keep him steady. He had woken up twice; too weak to do anything but groan before his fist knocked him back into oblivion.

The gate lowered without a call or signal, and he rode in, almost missing the body of a maester swinging from the noose to his direct left.

"Ugh, you Freys have a real way of decorating." He grumbled, steering the nervous horse from the limp body and continued inside.

Lord Edwyn was waiting inside, his arms crossed. He made no move to help him from the saddle that he silently cursed to one of the seven hells.

"Your king was arrived." He said, gesturing to the limp body draped across the horse's back.

Edwyn nodded and waved a hand, several Freys carrying the limp body from the horse down towards what he presumed were the stairs to his ready cell.

He held out an open hand and said "My payment. 100 gold dragons, as we discussed."

Edwyn walked away, and he was forced to follow.

"I made a deal with your father. Get the king, I get my money. But if you try to invite me to dinner, I'll be forced to decline. I had bugs on the way in, and I have no wish to see the next course." He said, marching beside the lordling.

Edwyn turned back to him and said "The king is leaving for King's Landing tomorrow. We have need of your skills on the road. There are bandits and thieves and north men everywhere that would gladly steal the king and send him back to Riverrun. The river lands are against us this time, and it's a long trail. We'll pay you double your fee."

He rubbed his chin and smirked.

"Triple. Half here, half there. Then I'm on my way." He said.

Edwyn nodded instantly and he smirked.

"I was just getting to know his royal highness. A nice road rip will make us best buds."

**TYRION POV**

Joffrey was crowing in delight.

"HA, that will teach those north men to mess with the crown! Mother, may I behead the stark boy myself?" he asked, nearly skipping around the room in excitement.

Cersei pursed her lips and Lord Tywin said "You will have to practice with Ser Payne to behead him. Give him a clean death."

Joffrey turned on his grandfather.

"I want to lope it half off, so he can suffer before I cut the rest of his neck off."

Tyrion swirled the wine in his cup and said "you'll scar your poor betrothed for life dear king. You saw her after her father's head rolled."

Joffrey turned on him and said "I'll tell her know. Imp, go fetch her ladyship."

He stood and said "Of course my great king."

As he turned and left, Joffrey called "And don't tell her. I want to see the look on her face."

The imp made no sound, but his brow furrowed and he muttered "Of course you're most beautiful Grace who thinks his royal cock is bigger then anyone else's."

He waddled from the room, and made for Sansa's room.

The poor creature was sitting at her window, lost in thought, her abandoned stitching beside her.

"My lady."

She jumped and looked above his head, then down and blushed.

"I'm sorry my lord, I did not see you." She said, curtsying.

"No one ever does. Come along, King Joffrey has news he wishes to share."

He left, leaving her to follow after him.

"Your brother has been recaptured my lady. He leaves for King's Landing tomorrow. It will take two weeks to come here."

Her breath caught sharply in her throat, and tears sprung to her eyes. Tyrion watched as she wiped them away and said "I am most glad that my traitor brother is getting beheaded."

"By your betrothed no less." Tyrion said.

He heard the soft whispered "I hope he stabs himself in the foot with the sword."

Tyrion smiled and said "Don't we all."

Sansa looked down at him and said "I apologize for that my lord, I haven't slept well."

"Praying for your brother no doubt. Fear not my lady, I'll speak to on one." He told her.

They reached the throne room, and Tyrion whispered "you never heard this."

She nodded, thankfully understanding.

The doors opened and Tyrion said "your betrothed, Lady Sansa Stark."

Joffrey's face twisted in a smile and he said "Sansa, I have news that will make you most pleased. Your brother is coming to King's Landing!"

She made her face a mask of shock and tears she didn't let fall pricked in her eyes. Tyrion scowled at his nephew and said "Now Joffrey, this is her brother."

"A traitor!" Joffrey said. "I'll serve his head for your wedding feast!"

Joffrey seated himself and tried to school his face to one of seriousness. But a smile still twitched on his lips.

"I'll behead him myself Lady Sansa, fear not. He will suffer for his treachery."

Sansa nodded silently, tears struggling not to stream down her face.

Cersei turned and said "You may leave Sansa, we have no need for you now."

She nodded and curtsied to the Lannisters.

"My lords and ladies, your Grace." She said before she turned and fled.

Joffrey watched her flee and said "Ha, did you see her face!"

"It was not hard to see her face when you told her that the last of her family is coming to be killed." Tyrion said dully, taking a sip of wine.

Joffrey turned and said "I will go see Ser Payne. He can give me the sword to use on that Stark boy's ugly head."

"I hear in the Flea Bottom that everyone hopes for the Young Wolf to free King's Landing from you. And I believe the Stark boy is older then you by at least two years."

Joffrey turned pink and said "Take that back you ugly Imp."

Tyrion smiled and said "I apologize. You don't want to hear the truth, I won't tell it."

He stood and left again, ignoring Joffrey's shouting and threats.

Why deny the truth.

**ROBB POV**

The first thing that hit Robb was the whip, lancing across his spine and carving a trench of fire through his back.

His eyes flew open and he bit back a scream. Another lash and he was struggling to keep his muscles from shaking. Sweat drenched him, the torches far too close and far too many in the humid room. A thin thread of blood streamed down his back where the skin broke. His breeches were drenched with his blood, and his body was screaming with pain.

The man whipping him, he had no idea who, said "you are no king. Just a sad little boy that saw his mother die. Watched the knife slid across her throat and the blood gush out. Did nothing to save her. Couldn't, weak little boy you are."

He bit his tongue, the taste of blood blossoming in his mouth. He couldn't shout, that brought the fists and his chest was bleeding enough as it was. His wounds, from the Wedding, were painful to move and breathe. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out yet.

"You're no king, no lord. Nothing but a scared little boy in a man's breeches. You have no mother, no father, no brothers, and your sister gets raped by the real king. You'll see it before he cuts your head off. I pray to the gods that Lord Walder lets you stay another day. One day is too short for the lesson to sink in."

Another lashing and Robb couldn't stop the spasm that shook his body.

"Stop!"

The lash fell after the word, and Robb felt blackness tugging at his mind.

"Lord Walder says he needs to be strong enough for the trip south. Leave him for now.'

He didn't recognize the voice, but he relaxed as the angry footsteps left, and the oor slammed shut.

The chains around his wrists were unlocked, but his legs were too weak. He fell to the floor, the cool stone covered with his blood. Someone grabbed his shoulders and helped him over to the cot, facing him down.

"Relax, I won't hurt you."

He opened eyes he never realized were closed and asked 'who are you."

"Someone. This will hurt a bit, but don't worry."

A burning on his back made him dig his nails in the bed, but he couldn't scream. His body betrayed him, to weak to even close his eyes.

The blackness was tugging at his mind, pulling heavy eyes closed and he felt something wrapped across his back. He relaxed finally and let sleep take him.

**Robb's is short, sorry. Ha, I feel evil from all the reviews you guys wrote.**

**Don't' think I did Tyrion justice, but I tried. Thought he might pity Sansa and try t help her along.**

**Thanks for the suggestion of the Brotherhood without Banners. Didn't use it like you said, but I think Rugor could enlist some help to free Robb.**

**Should he get to King's Landing or no?**


	7. Chapter 7

**In reply to Tim's review (don't know who you are), yes I realize that Grey Wind is able to kill hundreds of men very effectively, but I think that it would be bad for the story line if this guy died. I needed Robb kidnapped for further plot line details. Besides, Grey Wind will be able to kill people later.**

**Right now is a bad time, if you get what I mean.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Song of Ice and Fire. It's too good for me.**

**ROBB POV**

_He was running through the woods, a horse and rider at his side, several more trailing behind him, and a woman in a black cloak rode in front of them. She had grey hands, like rotten flesh, and smelled like the dead, but he trusted her. _

_The rider to his left looked down at him and stopped his horse. Everyone else stopped and trotted forward slowly and quietly._

_He stalked forward quietly, and peered over the ridge in the woods. The Twins stood half hidden in morning mist, and the smell of the river hung thick in the air. The morning fog clung in rivulets to his shaggy fur, uncut for weeks. He shook his fur and out and narrowed his eyes. Riding for over a day and night, he had kept pace with the horses for miles upon miles. His breath came in a light mist, clouding around his muzzle. _

_Then, the gates had opened…_

"Get up you lazy ass king!" someone shouted, kicking his side. His chest screamed in pain, and his tender back burned silently.

He curled around his bruising side. He opened one eyes slightly and looked around.

Everything was slightly blurry, but he could make out the shape of a man pulling out chains and shackling them to his wrists and ankles.

"Get up, your royal carriage his here." The man smirked and laughed.

Chaining his hands together and his ankles, he stumbled outside, barely standing and tripping with every shove from behind as the Frey behind him laughed.

The sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky was cast in a soft purple grey. His eyes were blinded after hours in darkness, and he blinked stars from his eyes.

Another shove and he fell face-first in the dirt.

Laughter echoed around and Robb struggled to get to his feet, a foot planted squarely between his shoulders.

"Come on king; show us how strong you are." He barked, and more laughter echoed in his ears.

Robb rolled over, his back in the dirt and heaved in air. His breath rattled in his chest, and he felt something warm soaking his chest.  
"Leave him be. Lord Walder wants him able to stand for his execution in King's Landing." Someone shouted from behind him. Robb pushed himself to his feet and teetered precariously. A hand shot out and steadied him, gripping his shoulder firmly.

"You alright?" someone asked. Robb nodded and sucked in another breath of air.

Someone slapped his shoulder and the chains around his ankles released.

"You'll be riding the slowest, most placid horse you've ever seen in your life. Try to escape, well, the king won't mind if you're missing a few fingers. Or a hand."

More laughter and someone helped Robb mount the dusty brown horse that stood short and thick like a barrel.

Four men surrounded him, all on tall black horses and with swords sheathed at their sides. A tall Frey with a rather long pointed nose and long hair tied at the nape of his neck was saddled to his left, and offered him a nod. Robb didn't nod back. He glared at the man, who shrugged and faced the gate ahead of them.

Slowly, the wood groaned and creaked the chains. The gate rose higher, until it was high enough to let even the tall reedy Frey through, who stood at least six feet.

The leader spurred his horse, and the rope tied around the reins tugged. The horse trailed along dutifully, and the other riders around him started off. As soon as they left the Twins, a cool breeze ruffled his hair and cooling his face, flushed with the fever that still hadn't left his body. His wounds were painfully sore, and he couldn't twist around to see if there was even a rider behind him. His eyes were sliding closed, but he forced them open. He would not appear weak.

The sun rose over the hills, the river sparkling like a massive silver snake carving a path through the grasses. The Twins vanished over a hill, and the brilliant sky was clear of crowds.

Until they approached the first body.

Half submerged in the river, their skin was white and bloated, puffy and decayed. Flies buzzed around his head, and a couple of crows took flight when they stepped closer. The rancid smell hung heavy in the air, along with the mist. He wore the coat of arms of north men, a massive giant.

An Umber.

He didn't know the man personally. Never met him previously either. But the north man lying dead in the river, far from home and left to be eaten by crows, made his stomach twist and bile stain the back of his throat.

A Frey man dismounted and kicked his arm, which made a sickening squelching noise.

"Look at the size of this monster. His mother must have been a giant." He said. Some chuckled, but the Frey to his left said "Leave it. We have only two weeks to get south. We can't waste time."  
The Frey gave one final kick, nearly tearing his arm off and mounted his horse again.

"Alright then Edwyn. But on the way home, I'm stopping and kicking every north man I see." The Frey swore, and they set off again.

After the first corpse, more sprouted like mushrooms after a rain. They littered the river lands, many wearing north colors that Robb could name, and he was gratified to see some Frey soldiers in the mix, many without limbs and their blood staining the stones and grasses where they lay.

He felt a half smirk spread across his face. The lead Frey, the one who kicked the body of the first north man, looked back and narrowed his eyes at him.

"Think it's funny, don't you. You bloody bastard. No wait, the bastards on the Wall, freezing his cock off with those other brothers of his. No, you're the traitor. Like your brother, and your headless father, and your sweet mother, with her eyes getting eaten by the fishes."  
He laughed, his voice carrying over the silence, like they were the only ones left alive in Westeros.

Robb clenched shaking fists and forced back the retorts on his tongue. They would get him nothing more than more bruises and scars. Wait for the right moment, then he could stab him right through his dirty Frey mouth, maybe even make an eunuch of him.

But the time wasn't now.

Not yet.

**RUGOR POV**

They watched the collection of horses leaving, riding south to King's Landing, where the headsman waited, along with the vile boy king.

Grey Wind growled, hackles raised in anger. The Lady Stoneheart placed a greying hand in his fur, forcing him down. The woman turned her cold eyes on him and hissed something.

"What is your plan captain?" The red man, Thoros of Myr, he called himself. Everyone turned to him and Rugor considered the ground below.

"We can't take them now. If one man escapes, he can ride back to the Twins and mount an army that would kill us all before we even reach half way back to Riverrun. We wait, and stalk our prey."

The yellow cloaked man grinned and the arrow man cracked his knuckles.

"I'll enjoy finding out if Freys still twitch in death, even if they aren't hanged." One brother said. Rugor turned his horse and said "we stick to the woods for as long as possible. The River lands are flat, and we'd be visible miles before we came close enough to catch them.

Wheeling his horse around, he galloped, not ahead of the group. The three men, yellow cloak, red cloak and arrow man rode ahead of the brothers. He was in the middle, riding alongside Lady Stoneheart.

She made no conversation. She rode alongside him silently, Grey Wind running between them, silent as his name. He was forced into silence, unable to say a word, or make any noise in front of the cold, accusing eyes of the dead lady.

They stopped at noon, and the yellow cloak man pulled some bread from his saddle bags, made of re-sewn cloaks. He recognized the faded Frey towers on the patch corner.

The yellow cloak man spotted him looking and said "stole it off a dead Frey couple weeks back. He had no need for it anymore."

He gave him a grin, and three teeth were missing from his mouth. Rugor nodded and turned back to his seat as far from Lady Stoneheart as possible. Grey Wind returned to his side, sitting at attention and scanning the woods around them.

The massive wolf stood with his head brushing his shoulders. He was far from the horses, which neighed and shook their manes in fear. Their eyes rolled around, trying to watch Grey Wind and one of the Brotherhood was trying to calm them.

As soon as the bread was eaten, they set off again, and soon they reached the end of the small forest. The Kingsroad stretched ahead of them, and he spotted several horsemen a couple miles ahead of them.

Rugor pointed and said "that might be them. We can catch them now, or wait till night fall and sneak into their camp."

The Lady Stoneheart hissed, hand clutching where the cold blade had sawed muscle and skin, leaving pale white bone underneath. Her voice was ragged and hissing, like a dead snake speaking through the mouth of a human.

"The lady commands for nightfall. We track them until, and wait for the right moment." The red man, Thoros of Myr said.

Rugor nodded and watched the group vanish over a hill.

"It might not be them. Maybe some soldiers from the siege camp in Riverrun. We should check to be sure."

The yellow cloak man spit on the ground and said "we can check after we slit their throats. Even if they are from the siege camp, their Lannister of Freys, and I'll kill the whole bloody lot of them."

The Lady Stoneheart hissed almost in agreement and her horse shuddered beneath her.

Rugor nodded and said "If they're just simple farmers fleeing from the war, we will send them on their way. No senseless killing."

Arrow man and Red cloak man nodded and the yellow cloaked man agreed, though reluctantly.

Spurring their horses, they trotted after the horses in the hot afternoon sun.

**Sorry if this is short, school is not a time to be writing. This was sort of a filler chapter of sorts.**

**Will the Brotherhood rescue Robb from the Freys, or will they escape with their lives and the king?**

**Tune in to find out. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Personal deepest chapter yet. Just prolonging the inevitable. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or A song of ice and fire.**

**SANSA POV**

Glancing down from her window in her room, and seeing the hard stone underneath, she wondered if it would kill her to launch herself from the tower, to send herself into her father's embrace, wherever the dead went after passing.

Shaking her head, she focused instead on the sliver of hope that remained. Her brother was alive, her only family remaining to her. Her brother who always told her tales about knights and maidens fair, who would listen to her sing when she asked and would comfort her when she was little and scared of the wild thing that was her sister that shared her room.

Unbidden, and certainly unwanted, she felt a tear in her eye. She wiped it away quickly. She would not cry where the queen and Joffrey would see, not even Tyrion or the Hound. She sat on her bed and stared at her hands, which shook slightly. Her brother was safe, and free from anyone that would hurt him. She could pray for his health and that he would raise another army, even stronger then the first, and strike down the king and queen from their high and mighty seats, and free her from the city that had once been a dream come true, but now was a living nightmare.

There was a light knock on her door and Sansa cleared her throat and called "Enter."

The hound opened the door, and he stepped in the room without as much as a word.

"The King requests your presence in his solar." He said plainly, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

Sansa nodded and smothered then fear the fluttered like bird wings in her heart. She shrugged on a cloak that hung beside her bed on a hook and wrapped it around her shoulders, hiding the silver dire wolf on the underside.

She held her head high and swallowed, her throat feeling drier then the Dornish deserts.

"Ready." She said quietly. "Take me to the King."

The Hound was silent as he led her towards the king's solar. She tried to calm the racing in her heart, and couldn't bring herself to start a conversation with the hulking man in front of her.

The hound decided to do that for her.

"The King has bad news for you, little bird." He told her, startling her form her thoughts. She regained her bearings and said "Is the Kingslayer captive again?" she asked, not daring to hope.

The Hound shook his head and said "when I say bad news, I mean for you, not the boy king. Something most likely about your brother, unless your sister turns out not to be dead and she's been captured. I pity the poor man who would ever have to put up with that little monster."

Anger rose in her, boiling the blood in her veins and making her frown.

"My sister is not a monster. She is my family and you have no right to say anything like that against her." She said. The Hound glanced at her with one eye and she realized what she said.

She bowed her head and felt her cheeks burning. She herself had shouted at her sister, calling her a monster and saying the very things the hound said now.

"I'm sorry Ser." She whispered quietly. "My sister is a traitor, along with my brother."

The Hound snorted and said "Robert Baratheon was a traitor to the crown too, and look where he ended up. King with as much gold and whores as any man could want. I would rebel too, if it meant I could bring in sweet rewards. Maybe cut off my brother's head myself as the King's Justice."

Sansa felt a shiver, like cold fingers trailing down her spine. To hear anyone, even the hound, talk of killing their brother so casually, and with that wish deep in his voice, it was enough to make anyone nervous. She wondered, in some deep part of her mind, what the Mountain that Rides did to make the hound want to kill him so much that he added it with his dreams of whores and drinking and gold.

The Hound had fallen silent again, leaving her in her own thoughts again. She thought of what he said, and prayed to the gods that her brother wasn't dead.

The Solar was the finest in the Red Keep, being the king's it would be the finest solar in Westeros. Plush satin and velvet pillows, silken sheets and a massive, four poster bed with gold swirling around the ivory pole on the corners of the bed. The king was relaxing ion the bed, a gold plate of food sitting beside him and a wine cup in hand. She smiled at her, his wormy lips twisted in what was once a sweet smile, now a hideous sneer. Sansa curtsied to the king and said "Your Grace."

Joffrey sat up and said "hound, bring her closer."

The hound shoved her roughly against her shoulder, and she stumbled slightly.

Joffrey studied her for a second, his eyes lingering on the woman's chest that was starting to blossom under her bodice. She smirked again and said "I had a raven from the Lord Frey."

Her heart went cold and her hands shook.

"Does it bear good news your Grace?" she asked as politely as she could, her voice not holding the quiver that her hands were struck with.

Joffrey turned and placed the golden crown over his head, gold on gold, and said "Great news for Westeros, but your poor traitor brother is heading for King's Landing. He will be here within the week."

She stilled her quivering hands and curtsied, though in her mind she wailed and felt herself drowning in grief. Her brother. Not her brother…

Joffrey seemed disappointed at the lack of emotion on her face, so he pulled the letter free and said "An artistic daughter of his sent a picture for you.'

The sketch was skillful, bringing detail with a few lines. Her brother hung from chains, head downcast and blood trailing down him. He was bound in crisp cloth, dark splotches spreading across them in several places. His hair was long, mated with dirt and grime and gore. She could see the glint of one of his eyes under his hair, and the look was absolute pain and determination to master it.

Her pride for her brother was equal to her horror of his predicament, the low state her brother, once tall and proud and honorable, looked worse then her father after they dragged him out from under the cells deep in the Red Keep."

Her fingers shook, the paper quivering slightly. Joffrey grinned at the horrified look spreading across her face.

She set the paper down, but unable to tear her eyes from the sight of her brother weak and dying.

"That is a most beautiful drawing Your Grace. If you will excuse me, I would like time to pray, to thank the gods for bringing him back to the Freys for justice." She said, her voice steadier then she expected.

Joffrey's sic grin widened, and his eyes glinted cruelly.

"Of course my lady. But first."

A fist sailed from nowhere, and she felt the sharp mail glove cut the smooth skin of her stomach. The kingsguard knight, Ser Meryn she believed, stepped from shadows and another fist nailed her stomach.

She fell to the ground, her eyes blurred with tears. This time a boot kicked her ribs, and the pain exploded throughout her body. The Hound watched with a stony face, but she swore, through the tears, his eyes were angry, at her she was not sure.

It couldn't possible be at Joffrey and Ser Meryn.

Her eyes closed as another foot joined his, another kingsguard from the shadows and she took her torment in silence.

**EDWYN POV**

Night fell quicker then Edwyn expected, the stars above glinting brightly in the heavy black sky. King Robb was slumped in his saddle, stubbornly still conscious though his face twisted slightly with pain at every step of his horse. He couldn't imagine the pain, wounds unhealed, lash marks on his back, and bruises decorating his chest and back as well. He almost thought his father too cruel to put a boy barely a man through this torment.

But that would be treasonous thoughts.

He held a hand and the retinue stopped, the horses awing at the ground.

"We set up camp here. Emmon, take first watch." Edwyn said.

Emmon frowned, but said nothing as they dismounted and Edwyn helped the nearly unconscious King Robb down from his horse. He slumped against him, legs weak and shaking too much to stand. His brow burned with returned fever, beaded with sweat.

Edwyn immediately laid the King on the ground and pulled a water skin from his saddlebag.

"Aenys, get a fire started." He said as he poured some water down the fevered boy's throat.

He swallowed gratefully, and his shuddering seemed to weaken in strength.

"I'm fine." He grumbled, his eyes bleary with exhaustion. Edwyn shook his head ad the king drank more water.

Aenys had a roaring fire as the sun fell, a blazing fire ball, burning fingers stretching across the sky in a last bid of farewell to warm the ground. They sat on rocks heated from the day's sun, and Edwyn thanked for the fire as bitter north winds blew through his cloak. Winter was coming, as the Starks were fond of saying.

Robb was still not sleeping; refusing to sleep in the presence of enemies, but his body was clearly suffering.

He moaned again, almost unheard in the whistle of the winds.

Emmon lost his temper and shouted at the man "Shut up or I'll cut out that tongue of yours."

Robb ignored Emmon, curling his knees close to his chest and fighting to keep his eyes open.

Aenys smacked Emmon and said "Leave the man be. He'll die soon enough, let him moan. We'll be free of him anyway."

The Freys laughed together and everyone settled under cloaks, soon falling asleep. Robb remained awake, watching through half blind eyes as everyone slept around him. Emmon glared at the king and turned his back on him. Edwyn closed his eyes and pulled his cloak tighter to his chin. The cold wind passed easily through his thin cloak, making him shiver in his boots.

Soon, exhaustion pulled his eyelids closed, and he fell asleep.

He awoke at dawn, to the smell of rust clogging his nose. He shot up, and found Robb lying unconscious at his feet, a bloody dagger clenched in his fingers. Emmon lay dead, a dagger through his heart. He scrambled to his feet and pulled the dagger from fingers, cold from winter winds and raced to Emmon's side.

It was a clean blow, clean through his heart and would have been painless. Judging form the dagger, it would have gone through his chest, not from behind like traitor's blade. He faced him head on, looked into his eyes and killed him. Emmon was still sitting, his cooling body not falling, planted firmly in the dirt. Flies already buzzed around his head, and his dead eyes had been eaten long ago by crows.

Aenys groaned from under his cloak and muttered "Edwyn get ride of the smell, I don't like it."

He crawled ot the King's side and studied him. A slash mark, form the same dagger now bled gently from his cheek and there were bruises around his throat, where Emmon most likely attempted to strangely him before the dagger plunged into his heart.

He felt something of anger stir in his heart.

"Aenys, wake up." He barked. Aenys rolled over and opened his eyes, spotting the body of his brother.

He shot up and raced to his side, finding the same stab mark and cold body Edwyn had left. He turned with burning eyes to the king, who remained still on the ground. He grabbed him by the bruised throat and pinned him to the ground, and the boy's eyes shot open.

He made a muffled sound of protest, and his already shallow breathing was choking in his throat.

"You-killed-my-brother." Aenys growled, his fingers squeezing around his throat. Robb was turning red, then white.

Edwyn pried his brother away, and said "Enough."

Aenys whirled on him and said "you probably helped him, held down Emmon while the king slid a dagger through his heart."

Edwyn waited as his brother seethed silently, spent his anger and his shoulders sagged with grief.

"Emmon." Aenys whispered. Edwyn nodded and placed an arm around his younger brother's shoulders.

"He's with the Father now. Come on, wake the others and we'll bury him." He told his brother. He felt grief in his heart; he was his brother after all. But no anger was held towards the boy king lying choking in air on the ground. He felt nothing but grief. No anger like Aenys, or the desire to kill the boy like the rest of his brothers and half brothers.

Emmon was buried in an unmarked grave, like hundred of others across Westeros. Aenys, being closer to his brother then the others, said a few quiet words to him, they prayed for a few minutes, but that was all the time they could spare for him. They mounted their horses, the king now tied hand and foot, and they set off at a brisk pace.

The king made up for the lack of sleep yesterday, his eyes closing as soon as they were out of sight of his brother's grave. Aenys was too his left, where he could easily reach for his dagger and plunge it into him without interference. Edwyn made sure to keep an eye on him closely.

The afternoon sun of yesterday was hidden under a thick rolling cloud, stormy grey and flickering brightly with streaks of lightening. The sight of the massive coal black cloud coming towards them, and as the bitter winter winds picked up their tempo, sent a shiver of fear and foreboding, striking deep in some primal art of his mind. This storm was a warning, danger ahead. Something was coming for them.

Robb apparently agreed with him, stirring from his exhausted sleep and eyes turning immediately towards the coming storm clouds. Thunder boomed, like a drum of the gods, the sound rolling off out of the sky and sending a deep thrumming through his chest, his heart picking up tempo. His eyes scanned he horizon, and in the light of another flash of lightening, he spotted horses and their riders. His sharp eyes could pick out the flashing of a naked steel blade and the increase in their speed, racing towards them.

"North men." He muttered.

He spurred his horse faster and broke from the tight ring.

"North men coming from the north. I'll stay with the king. Aenys hold them back, kill them."

Aenys nodded, drawing his own sword and leading his brothers in blood and arms toward the marching horses. They were outnumbered by only a few, and men fell in battle faster then crows would flock to their bodies after.

He took the reins from one of his brothers and spurred his horse faster, the king's horse picking up tempo. The king turned back, pain flashing across his face for half a moment as he spotted the horses behind him.

He struggled against the ropes and chains bending him, tying him to his saddle. He had no dagger, nothing to help him. He fought anyway, his breathing ragged as his body twisted to free himself. The pain became too much and he sagged in his saddle. His face was flushed with the fever again, and he drew in a shaky breath.

He forced his horse to gallop, fleeing from the hills. The thunder boomed louder, like the sound of the drums in the hall of blood, in the place of murder, in the pace he called home. Like the Rains of Castamere was the song of the fallen north men, the beat of thunder and the hoof beats of horses would be the last music he heard before his life ended with the cold bite of steel.

His mind was frantic with fear. He was no warrior, he was a strategist at best, a politics man, who stayed behind the shadows and slipped poison in wine. He had no place on the battlefield. Now was he angry with the king, for Emmon was an able hand on the field, with a sword in hand.

Soon he left his family in the dust, and the clanging of the swords was drowned by the sound of crashing thunder and his own frantic heartbeat, like a bronze bell ringing in his ears.

Rain started to fall, gentle at first, then harder and faster, like falling rock driving into his back and head. He ducked his head and led his horse along, dragging the bound king long with him.

They were racing against the storm, the speed of horses and the hand of Fate as it plaed with their lives, like players on a board.

The massive board of the game of thrones.

A wolf, somewhere in the distance, howled, and the sound sent fear lancing through his heart, spurring him on faster still.

**Wow…**

**Just wow.**

**Personal best chapter yet, I don't know about you guys. **

**Just, I can't describe it. Felt deep to write, I guess. **

**Review if you liked it. It's Edwyn and Robb left, alone with another few weeks of travel. If they even make it that far…**

**Oh, thanks to Marina Kai-Fai for sticking with me till this point. I guess people like this story.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song Ice and Fire, only things I own are Rugor and Maester Crass and Thug the hired. And anyone else I forgot to mention. Only them, no one else. I can never make someone that awesome.**

**EDWYN POV**

They stopped in a small burned out house, near the river Trident and far enough distance that Edwyn could sleep easier at night knowing they were far from the fighting. Robb was ill, shivering and shaking under the cloak Edwyn had found hidden under the table. He ate some bread and shared some with the king, but he ate precious little.

Now he was stoking the fire, made for broken chairs and such. He knew that his brothers would stop here first if they escaped the battle. He missed Aenys, even if he would be grumpy and angry with the king.

Poking the fire with a chair leg, he sighed. King's Landing was still quite a distance, about a week. He could make it on horse, but he was worried if Robb could survive the trip. The fever had returned full force, and these bandits were right behind them. And Edwyn was no good at sword fighting. Or fighting with weapons in general.

Robb was huddled under the cloak near the fire, his eyes sunken and half closed with exhaustion. He edged away nervously, keeping one hand on the dagger at his side. I he could kill one free while fevered, he could kill another.

He rubbed his throat and asked hoarsely, and his head bent almost shamed to be asking him "Water?"

Edwyn jumped at the sound of his voice and handed him the water skin, and Robb took a long draught. Edwyn studied the boy king.

He would have been tall and strong at one point, but imprisoned and wounded and fevered and touching hands with the Stranger just days ago had robbed him of most of his strength. He was thin and pale and shaky and weak.

He handed him the water skin back and Edwyn said "You try to kill me like you did Emmon, you won't get very far. You'll be too weak to travel, and some sort of animal will come and eat you."

Robb looked at him in some surprised, as if shocked he was speaking to him.

"I won't kill you." He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Edwyn scratched his chin, feeling the bristles of his beard growing back after two days without shaving.

"Why did you kill Emmon?" he asked. He was curious. The man taunted and mocked him, but that wasn't really a good reason to kill someone.

Robb's face turned dark and Edwyn felt himself moving slightly away. In the flickering fire light and with the cold dark look in his eyes, he looked very capable of murder, like he should be in battle with a sword in hand and his wolf at his side.

"I saw him kill my banner men, my guard, my friends. The north remembers." He muttered darkly, watching Edwyn to see his reaction.

He nodded slowly and said "I was art of the planning of the Red Wedding. I took pleasure in the task. You dishonored the Frey name by taking a Westerling as your wife. I thought of it as vengeance, revenge, was the toll was for crossing the Freys."

He watched Robb narrow his eyes at him and his hands clench tightly under the cloak.

He held up a hand and said "I was foolish to think that blood would blot out anything you did to our honor. It spread it further, made us murderers, guest right breakers, betrayers, and oath breakers."

Robb was silent, watching the flames curl around the broken chair pieces, but his eyes showed deep thinking.

Slowly, he lay down on the floor and huddled under the cloak, faint shivers still wracking his body. Edwyn waited until his breathing evened out, deeper and quieter then before. He stood and chained his ankle to a table a distance away, made of thick oak that he couldn't imagine the king dragging along. If he did, the sound of scraping wood would wake him so he could stop him.

Relaxed, and actually sure he would live till dawn, he relaxed and put out the fire and curled under his cloak, sleep taking him almost immediately.

**SANSA POV**

Dinner was a quiet affair, just herself seated in her room. Her bruises and cuts marred her face and body, and her head was sore where she landed on the stone.

She picked at her meat and sighed, staring out the window. The city sprawled beneath her, stone buildings and hundreds of small folk scattered, free to live their lives, not like her, trapped in a tower like some maiden from a song.

But life wasn't a song, she learned the hard way.

Placing her knife down, she examined it. It was rather sharp, golden handle, but rather simple compared to some knives she had seen in the armory when Joffrey took her there to scare her with the massive swords and morning stars and double bladed axes and even a massive war hammer, like the one her father told her about that Robert Baratheon could swing with one hand when he was young.

She fingered the tip of the blade and winced when a pinprick of blood welled on her fingertip. She heard footsteps outside and stashed the knife in her sleeve.

The Hound had become a recent visitor, sometimes in the middle of the night and so drunk he remembered nothing of the day the next morning. Sometimes he came in the afternoon and offered to escort her to the godswood to pray for her brother.

He wore only his mail, but his sword remained ever stuck to his hip, the blade sheathed with no jewels or other adornments like on Joffrey's swords. Like her father's it was simple with an air of elegance about it.

She had remarked on it one day, but the Hound had only replied "Swords are meant to kill, to rob you of your blood and limbs and head and to save your life. They aren't meant to be pretty things to be admired by little birds."

She had blushed furiously, but refused to feel ashamed. She paid him a compliment and he threw it in her face.

Today, the Hound said nothing, just looked her over and walked away.

"Come on!" he barked, leaving Sansa to scurry after him.

Today he wasn't drunk. Today he was serious, his face more stony blank then usual.

"What's wrong?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer "is my brother?"

"He's fine. Fevered and dying, but on his way here. It's more about you I'm worried about." He said.

Sansa frowned. Why would Joffrey's dog be worried about her? She was a wolf bitch, as Joffrey put it once. He was a lion's dog.

He led her through the Red Keep, sticking to dark paths and ducking into rooms whenever footsteps were heard.

"Where are we?" she was cut off with a raised hand. A servant carrying a tray of wine waddled past on fat legs, and the Hound watched him like a real dog. After the fat man passed, he continued "I'm taking you to someone who can help."

That cleared everything up.

Finally, in a quiet room, in a part of the castle Sansa had never seen before, the Hound opened the door and said "Little bird." In a mocking voice.

Tyrion Lannister, reading a book by the dim light, was sitting on a chair, another chair facing him. A paper and quill sat on the table, and a roaring fire in the stone hearth.

"My Lord." She said. He shook his head and pointed at the paper.

Spiders and birds are everywhere. Silence speaks volumes.

Sansa nodded in understanding. Varys would have spies all over the castle, even in the unoccupied corners. Their conversation would be written, to not be overheard.

Why am I here? She wrote, and passed the paper across the table. Tyrion read her note and scribbled something down quickly. He passed the parchment back and her eyes skimmed over the message.

_Your brother will be here in a matter of days. On the morrow of the execution, you will be wed to him. We will help you escape, maybe with your brother._

Her brother…

She could imagine it in her mind. Her brother sneaking through the dark twisting streets of King's Landing, after killing Joffrey and Cersei and leaving the Red Keep in uproar. They would leave and go back to Winterfell and prepare and army to guard them from anyone in the South that wanted entrance. Sansa would never complain of the cold again and she would never leave home.

She quickly wrote_; how would I escape?_

Tyrion read over the message slowly, and the quill hovered over the parchment for so long Sansa worried that Tyrion had no plan.

But then he scribbled; _I have sellswords and some north men sneaking into the city as peasants seeking shelter. They will amass at the execution, and you will escape with your brother and the Hound._

The plan seemed like out of a song. A brilliant escapade from the Strangers sword, her brother saved from the headsman in a great battle in the eyes of common men. It would be sung about for generations, how the trapped wolf grew claws and killed the lions when they thought themselves most in power. The city would run red, and maybe she would get a lion's pelt.

She felt the grin spread across her face, and schooled it to one of seriousness. She wrote:

_Why bring the Hound?_

Tyrion glanced at the door, where the thick set man was guarding them from any who desired to hear their words spoken or written. He wrote:

_The hound will protect you on the road back to Riverrun, since I am most sure that the north men will be slaughtered or escape without you, and the sell swords will flee as soon as the first is struck down. Most likely Joffrey would like to torture your brother and humiliate him before the people like Robb did to him when he paraded around being a king. It will be you three on the road._

She glanced from the smallest most deformed lion in the pride and back at the paper.

Just the three of them.

She took the quill in hand and wrote; _what about you Lord Tyrion. Surely you would wish to escape King's Landing?_

Tyrion smiled at her, that twisted smile, the raised red line that scarred his face twisting like a snake under his skin.

He wrote slowly, so slow she could almost tell what he was writing without reading the words.

_I am of more use in King's Landing then lost somewhere in the river lands surrounded by wolves and lions. I am more adept at politics then swinging a sword. And there are no good whores in the wilderness._

He took the parchment and continued; prepare for departure. Pack your warmest, most simple clothes and take a dagger. Wear your cloak and anything you need to take with you, and pack them in a single saddlebag. Pack for your brother also.

As soon as she finished reading, Tyrion took the paper and placed it in the fire, and it blackened and dissolved into smoldering embers amongst the blackened logs.

Sansa wrapped her cloak tighter around her and nodded at the Imp. He nodded back and left, the shadows wrapping around him like a cloak as he disappeared.

**BOOM!**

**I'm so cool. Thanks for the love!**

**Next chapter…**

**…**

**…**

**I'll figure something out.**

**SEE YA! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh yeah forgot to mention last chapter. ARYA, as many of you have wondered, is now wandering the forest alone in search of her direwolf Nymeria, because she is important in later chapters. You WILL get a POV from her, so sit tight and get over it.**

**I do my own writing in my own time.**

**Oh, and the Hound is important. I might be doing a SanSan, but I might not. Depends on my mood. And if you want SanSan, REVIEW!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire. I'm not old. Or evil, for killing Robb Stark is EVIL!**

**RUGOR POV**

Kicking through the bodies, Rugor eventually found the man that had stolen the king in the first place. His shrewd grey eyes were blank and wide with fear, frozen in his last moments. He pressed his foot to the open hand and heard the crack as his fingers broke.

The others were also examining bodies, stealing coin or warmer cloaks and even better leather boots then theirs. One man fingered a sword, russet with blood and asked "would it be considered wrong to take a man's sword if he doesn't need it anymore?'

Rugor shrugged, and the man sheathed the sword at his side anyway.

The thunder overhead boomed loudly, and rain started to pour desolately down on them. He covered his head with the cowl of his cloak and examined the scene of carnage.

The seven bodies of the Freys were strewn everywhere, in twisted positions and with the blank eyes of the dead. Crows circled overhead despite the rain, and flies were already settling on the bodies and buzzing in his ears.

Swatting one away, he said "the king isn't here."

Lady Stoneheart hissed, her grey fingers clenching the bronze and iron crown in her hand. Grey Wind stood over his kill, three Freys, their throats torn out and deep wounds in their chests where Grey Wind had bitten and clawed until white bone was visible in the torn mess of blood.

The air, once thick with the smell of rotten dead meat and blood, was cleansed away as the rain continued, washing the blood from his face.

Suddenly, something flitted in the corner of his eye. A shape, only a flicker of movement in the woods.

Drawing his sword for the second time that day, he circled slowly, eyes watching for anything.

Another flicker of movement, and a flash of steel in the woods.

Slowly, he approached the woods, his sword in front of him and held steady.

"What are you doing Rugor?" someone asked behind him. He concentrated on the woods when something flew out and he felt the cold steel slash cross his cheek, drawing fresh blood. He swung and missed, the blade burying itself in the trunk of an old tree.

"Hey!" he barked, whirling around.

He spotted a small dirty child, a boy or girl he had no clue with a dagger in their fist. They glared at him with cold grey eyes and hissed "Who are you?"

"Ar- err, Arry?"

The child turned to the voice, a young boy about sixteen with black hair and blue eyes. He was stumbling, as if not believing who this was.

The child looked dangerously angry, a silent black storm gathering in his eyes and his fists clenched till his knuckles were white.

"Gendry." He muttered under her breath, as if this boy had wronged him somehow.

The boy, Gendry walked over and sized her up. He towered a foot over him and where the child was small and thin and angry, he was tall and thick set and confused and a little happy, however little.

"Who are you?" he demanded, sheathing his sword, but keeping it loose. This child could easily gut the boy, who wore the sword on his hip with an obvious newness to it.

Gendry shook his head and said "This is Arry, a boy I met when I was out of King's Landing."

Arry scowled at the boy and turned his back on him, turning instead to him.

"And who are you supposed to be? Edmure Tully?" she demanded. Rugor flattened his Tully red hair and scowled at her. His father's father was a bastard of Tully, and the red hair had descended through the family.

He crossed his arms and said "Rugor Rivers. Captain of the guard. Listen boy, we have important business. So unless your with those Freys over there, you'll have to leave."

The boy scowled and punched him in his arm, his thin arms having surprising force to them.

"I hate Freys, and if you imply that again I'll stick you with a dagger." He growled, showing the dagger.

Rugor shook his head and said "you still have to leave. We have no time for little city rats."

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and instead turned to Gendry, who still stood there.

"I'm looking for someone. A boy, my brother. He has red hair and blue eyes."

Rugor shook his head and said "Haven't seen your brother. Now move along boy."

Arry frowned and examined the group.

"See you brought your new family with you." He said venom in his words and a cold steel like the dagger tied to his waist.

Gendry nodded and said "We're looking for your b- the king in the north."

Arry froze and turned his eyes from Gendry to Rugor and over the rest of the Brotherhood. He snarled and said "I'm following. I don't need a horse, but I'm not leaving."

Rugor turned to Lady StoneHeart, the unvoted but clearly undisputed leader. She was watching Arry with cold eyes, studying his face and watching his movements.

She gave a slow nod.

Rugor sighed internally, but said "Fine. Share a horse with someone, someone you won't stab in the back."

Arry turned around and said "Your horse is big enough for two."

Rugor could not believe the gods would do this to him.

Grey Wind was watching the hill, leading the group from the front of the pack, sniffing and sometimes just following something, a feeling. The king and his wolf were connected in a way that man and animal should not. It was like the wolf just knew that the king had been through here.

Arry made no sound, just kept one hand on his dagger and one eye on him.

Finally, he said "Night's falling, we'll camp here."

Arry nodded briskly and vaulted from the saddle, like he'd been riding his whole life. Rugor made no comment.

There was no chance of a fire, since the ground was damp and it still poured heavily. They all huddled under their cloaks and tried to keep warm. Lady StoneHeart alone did not sleep, and Arry looked no more tired then before. Rugor kept one hand on the dagger sheathed at his own hip and fell into a fitful, uneasy sleep.

**EDWYN POV**

Dawn came bright and early, the sun rising slowly over the horizon. Edwyn woke quickly, his eyes open and ready to move.

The king was still sleeping, huddled under the cloak, but seeming a bit stronger then before. He woke as soon as his hand touched his shoulder and sat up, groaning as he moved to quickly.

"We're leaving." He told him, going to saddle up the horses left outside in the rain.

Thankfully, Edwyn was smart enough to bring their saddles and saddle bags in out of the rain, and the horses were dry enough and ready to ride. Strapping the saddle, he led the horses back to the house.

Robb was sitting on the ground, using a the sharp end of a silver pin off Edwyn's cloak to try and pick the lock to the chain snaking around his ankle. Edwyn watched for a moment and said "That is my pin."

For his credit, he didn't blush or get angry or anything. He stared at him blankly, nad leaned back and watched Edwyn pull the key from around his neck.

He didn't move as he knelt down next to him, and unlocked the chain, keeping one hand nervously on his dagger.

As soon as the lock clicked, Robb had his hands around his throat, fingers closing off his windpipe.

Struggling for breath, his shaking hands grabbed for the hilt of his dagger and he choked "You can't survive without me."

Robb's face didn't move from stony and he said "Those bandits attacked your men. I might convince them to help me back to Riverrun."

Edwyn's lungs were burning as he gasped "You won't make it there yourself. You don't know where you are, or even if the bandits are still after us. You need me."

The fingers loosened slightly and Robb scowled at him.

"You said you wouldn't kill me."

That struck him deeply, but his grip didn't release. He grasped the dagger and drew it from the sheath silently.

He twisted it and brought the hilt slamming into the back of his head, again and again until Robb's hands left his throat. He felt warm blood on his fingers and he heaved air. Robb was lying on the ground, blood dripping down his back slowly. A massive lump was forming behind his head and Edwyn gripped the dagger. Robb was dazed on the ground, blinking stars from his eyes and his hand reached for the back of his head, drawing away red.

Edwyn stood and said "You almost killed me."

Robb looked at him blankly and said "you are holding me prisoner, to take to King's Landing to get my head cut off like my father's. I will be expected to fight back."

Edwyn pointed the dagger shakily at him.

"Try something like that again and I won't let King Joffrey have the honor of killing you. Bastard."

Breathing air, he approached and tied his hands and blindfolded him with some scrap cloth in his pocket. He pressed the dagger to his back and marched him towards the horses waiting outside. He tied him to the saddle and slung one leg over his own horse. And they were off.

Edwyn had to keep looking behind him to see if the king was still there. Swaying in the saddle, his head slumped, he saw the russet stain on his neck. He gripped the dagger again and rubbed his tender throat.

The bloody bastard.

The traveled far, making no stops or deterring from the Kingsroad ahead of them. He had a somewhat fair idea where he was. Then he spotted it.

Shimmering amongst the green of the trees and valleys, the God's Eye sat, the distant Isle of Faces in the center of the lake. It was almost the same shade of green as the grass, like a green looking glass.

He stopped and stared. This was the biggest collection of water he had ever seen. He had never been to see, never seen a lake before this day. The massive expanse of water was massive to him. He couldn't believe this much water sat in one place.

He stared for a moment before remembering himself and gauging the map in his head. The God's Eye was only five days ride from King's Landing, maybe longer at the rate they were travelling. Maybe a couple more days longer.

He steered his mind from the lake and turned back to the king.

He sat as before, slumped over and breathing softly. He relaxed slightly and made to go around the God's Eye. If the map in his head was right, going left then south east would lead them to King's Landing, and he would receive a hero's welcome. Small folk shouting his name like they never had before and maybe even the King would thank him, and his queen mother.

Settling into his daydreams, he didn't hear the hooves behind him, getting a little louder with every hour that passed…

**SANSA POV**

Placing the last folded dress in her saddle bag, she closed it and stashed it under her bed, settling on her bed. Her best dress, a pale blue with a golden thread neckline, sat beside her, and she tried to calm her racing heart.

The Queen had asked her to dinner tonight with her family, Joffrey, Tommen, and Tywin Lannister. For it was certain that Joffrey was no more Baratheon then Tommen or Myrcella. Or Cersei, it seemed.

She stood and unlaced the back of her dress, and her maid rushed in to help her with her new dress. She hung a gold chain around her neck, with seven pearls settling at her throat. Like she was holding her family near. The smallest one would be Rickon, being the youngest. The shiniest one was her, and the dirtiest one was Arya. Robb had his own, a darker white, almost like the fur of Grey Wind. Her mother's was always warm to touch; her father's cool but smooth. And Bran's was chipped, broken like his legs.

She smiled and let her maid curl her hair up around her head, not in the northern styles she had resented before, but in the southern styles that now seemed quite ridiculous. As soon as she was ready, another maid entered and said that she was to go down to the dining hall with the Lannisters.

She straightened her dress nervously and forced a smile to her face. She felt like she was walking into a snake pit.

Or a lion's den.

The four Lannisters were seated at the table, and she felt out of place in blue when everyone wore red and gold. Like the true northern woman she was.

She sat at Tommen's side, and he smiled brightly at her. He was too sweet to be a lion, he was more like the kittens he adored, sweet and cuddly and cute. Cersei was the she lion, graceful and beautiful, but perfectly willing to tear your throat out. Tywin was the leader, though Joffrey thought himself king.

She smiled at the growling lions and said "good evening lords and ladies, Your Grace.'

Joffrey nodded and Cersei said "Sweet Sansa, a pleasure for you to join us tonight."

Tommen nodded and said "My lady." In a sweet voice.

He reminded her of Bran, thought they looked and aced nothing alike. But she missed her little brother, and Rickon and Arya and Robb and her mother.

She smiled at the little kitten and said "I as surprised to receive the invitation to join you my lady. I am most honored."

Cersei smiled at her, like a snake in pretty dresses and with a woman's shape and face and long golden hair. Nothing but a snake.

Tywin set down his wine glass and said "My lady, it appears that the Freys bringing your brother are at the God's Eye, approaching as we speak. Are you happy?"

Sansa felt her hands shake, but folded them in her lap and said "I am quite pleased my traitor brother shall be brought to justice, and King Joffrey swinging the sword himself."

Joffrey smiled, twisting his wormy lips and said "Lady Sansa, you honor me."

Nothing but a lion's den.

Cersei set down her glass and turned to look at Sansa with her emerald eyes.

"You seem to be growing into quite a beautiful young woman Sansa. Nothing like your wild sister, who acted more like a peasant boy then a lady."

Cersei watched her face carefully, waiting for a reaction. Sansa sipped from her now filled glass and said "Thank you my lady, but how ever beautiful I grow, I will pale in comparison to you."

Cersei smiled, a mask stretched tight over her face to hide her displeasure at the lack of rise taunting her family brought up.

Sansa turned to Tommen and asked "How many kittens do you have now my lord?"

Tommen smiled, glad to be included and said "Three. I named them all myself."

Cersei smiled at her son, her teeth flashing white.

"Sweet Tommen, why don't you go fetch a kitten for Lady Sansa to see. She would love that, wouldn't you Sansa?"

Sansa nodded, feeling the trap closing in around her. Tommen jumped from his seat and ran from the room, calling for his kittens. Leaving her alone with three lions.

Joffrey said nothing, taking his food and starting to eat.

Tywin asked her "How have you enjoyed King's Landing Sansa?"

She looked down at her plate and said "the city is most marvelous my lord. The Red Keep itself is grander than anything in the north."

Tywin nodded and Cersei asked "I hope you enjoy your stay. You will be queen one day, when you wed Joff. You will be such a grand couple."

She locked eyes with her, like the beady eyes of a predator and she asked "do you have any plans or wishes to leave King's Landing. You seem distraught."

Sansa swallowed and envisioned Lady at her side. Her faithful direwolf would have made her brave. But she was dead, and Sansa was alone.

Swallowing the fear that made her tongue thick, she said "of course no my lady. Why would I ever want to leave King's Landing?"

Cersei smiled and with a smile of poison said "that is very nice dear. And do you desire to be queen?"

Sansa wanted to shout no, that she want her home back, and her family and Lady in the north, far from the rat's nest and snake pit that is the South. She wanted her sister to tease her and her brother's down in the yard training, and Bran climbing up the castle walls. She wanted her mother to braid her hair and her father to kiss her and she wanted to tell him that she was so sorry, that he was dead because of her. She wanted to sing and dance under the falling summer snow and to marry someone in the north, not her wretched son Joffrey.

But she held her wishes, hid them deep inside where no one would touch her precious dream and said "I do not wish for the throne, but if I marry His Grace, and if I was only a small bit the great queen you are, I would be a great and beautiful queen."

Cersei smiled and they continued their meal in silence.

As she touched the dinner knife in her sleeve, she prayed for the gods to help the Imp with his plan.

**THEON POV **

**(I haven't read Dance of Dragons, and I have no idea if this is right. So excuse me if I'm wrong and correct me.)**

The bright morning sunlight that streamed through the thick barred window never reached his corner of the cell. Trapped in the darkness, he was trapped in his own mind, surrounded by the blood and bodies and fires burning in his eyelids. The battle at Winterfell had not lasted long, and he could still see the men around him dying, ones he had known for years. Rodrik was one, the blood streaming from his body, staining the snow ruby red. He never knew that blood could be so white.

The often thought of what ifs, what would have happened if he hadn't done some of the deeds he did. If he had stayed with Robb instead of heading home to the Iron Islands. Instead of seizing Winterfell and pretending to kill Bran and Rickon. If he had died in the Whispering wood, and if he had never been taken captive.

He wondered sometimes what would happen if he was ever released. If Robb would remove his head himself. He likely would, since he killed what was probably the last of his family and destroyed his home. He could see the cold eyes, like chips of ice that froze the insides of enemies, turned on him as he knelt before him, the massive long sword Ice in his hand as he raised it for the final blow. His father was dead now, Ramsay had crowed, thinking it would bring him grief. The same that whipping and torturing and whispering things brought him grief. He learned of nothing from the outside world except his father's death, and that had brought no emotions. The man was a stranger, not seen or talked to in ten years. He was nothing but some casualty, in this bloody god be cursed war.

The sound of the opening door made him tense his muscles, search for a sign of who had entered. It would most likely be his tormentor, Ramsay Bolton, really a bastard Snow like Jon. The heir of the Dreadfort since his son was dead and the Leech Lord had no siblings.

He loomed out of the shadows, shorter then himself. But that didn't stop the superior look from spreading across his face, like the smirk at every fall of the whip or blade across his body.

"why, lord Greyjojy, I have news for you." He said, circling him like a wolf and a deer, his prey, to kill.

"I know you think of him. Your bloody king in the north. Your friend, brother, ally. The boy you left behind for one final chance at being with your family."

He felt the cold bite of a steel blade and whisper of blood as it bit into his side, near the burns over his heart. He winced and breathed "what about it you bastard."

Ramsay smiled, a sickly smile that made him dread insulting him. But it wasn't worth it anymore. Seeing the masked hurt in his eyes at the word bastard, and then the burning pain he suffered for uttering the word in his presence.

"well, the Boltons have bested the Starks after many years. Thinking he had our trust, and with Walder Frey and Tywin Lannister, we killed his army, and his banner men. Killed them at his uncle's wedding. Even saw his whore of a mother get her throat slit."

He laughed and leaned against him, and said "your precious little friend his heading south in chains. Going to end just like his father. With his head rolling."

Theon didn't know what to think. He dreamed every night, of the hiss of the blade going through his neck, and the cold merciless look in Robb's eyes as he swung the sword. He could imagine his head roll, seeing Eddard Stark execute many a man before.

Now, there was something close to grief. He couldn't imagine Robb dying at the little prick Joffrey's hand. He couldn't see him kneel willingly, fighting at every step. He couldn't see the little six year old boy he watched grow up dying under a traitor's sword.

Ramsay was watching him, waiting for a reaction. Receiving none, he twisted his arm and pulled his head close to his.

"Lord Bolton has decided that it was high time that you die for killing the king's brothers. Not for the king, more to prove that he is willing to do justice. The others will follow when they see the murderer beheaded. Lord Bolton will rein Warden of the North, and I will take over after his death."

His face twisted in smile again and he hissed "you can count on it that I will swing the sword for my father."

Theon looked away, fearing he would see the lie in his eyes at the words 'murder his brothers.'

He knew that Bran and Rickon were too far away to be in danger from this bastard.

**Well, important note. I SCEWED UP! I realize now, thanks to some pointing out from MB18932 that I totally messed up with Tyrion Lannister's character. He probably wouldn't help the Starks and save them from an execution. And I am wondering if I should just make him a total traitor and lie about the execution rescue. Sansa would watch Robb lose his head and see no army rescue him.**

**And there's Arya for you. Alive and well. And with the Brotherhood without Banners. This should turn out well.**

**Please help me fix the Imp's mistake. I have no idea what I should do next. I screwed up and don't know how to fix this.**

**Just saying…**

**OH, sorry if Theon is out of character. I feel like a did a bad job. Man, this AN is long.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Patrick, I have the same thoughts as you. Sansan is too far in age. Like seriously, a fourteen year old and a thirty something year old is sort of…creepy. **

**Note, this chapter we fast forward a couple days, to only a day's travel from King's Landing. Near Rosby on the Feast of Crows map.**

** Anyway, thanks to the people.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire.**

**ROBB POV**

Damn the Frey bastard to hell.

Blind to the world, Robb sighed and tried once again to shake the blindfold from his eyes. He had no idea where he was, if Edwyn was still there, or if he was surrounded by bandits or someone would murder him in an instant. All he knew was that he was still on horseback, swaying with the pace of the hoof beats.

He tried to lift his arms earlier on, but his hands were tied around the saddle, his fingers stiff and aching with lack of movement.

He was forced to sit placidly like some sort of child, tied up until he couldn't move even his fingers.

He was forced to sit, blind to the world around him and too weak with his fevered body.

Edwyn was somewhere ahead of him, leading his placid horse alone from his massive horse that towered over him like Rickon to Greatjon.

This brought his thoughts to Riverrun, and his wife and family and remaining army sat. They would have known of his kidnapping, and were probably sending out search parties to find him.

But he was most sure that they would not find him in time to save him from the headsmen's sword.

So he would have to escape himself.

He still felt like his fingers were wound tightly around Edwyn's neck, and had felt pleasure seeing him choke for air. This man was a Frey, who killed his mother and betrayed him and tried to murder him. But he had been too weak to kill him quickly, and he felt the cold air stinging the open wound over his head, the dried blood crusting on his neck. He glared ahead, where hopefully Edwyn was seated.

He ignored his cramping arms and lost himself in thoughts. He didn't know when it drifted to dreams and sleep, but suddenly he was seeing the world through Grey Wind's eyes.

_He was racing through the woods, stronger then before and more powerful. He recognized the small she human who sat astride the horse with the man who had fought with him. The horses were nervous around him, scared of his teeth and claws. _

_They should be. He was the lord of the wild. No lions could take his right._

_He barred his teeth at the smaller cousin sulking in the woods, and he sensed something familiar about him. The scent he carried, one he hadn't scented in moons. _

_His sister…_

_He looked toward the she human that was her companion. She was straight backed and alert, searching through the trees, searching for whatever had alerted her to a presence half familiar._

_He sniffed the air and felt the wild presence of his sister, his litter mate, stalking closer at the cousin's insistence._

_She was like him in some respects. Grey with yellow eyes, Nymeria was small and lean, but a hungry light in her eyes that she shared with the she human that rode beside. A man raised the bow, arrow nocked and aimed to strike._

_The she human had intervened, cursing him to the hells and stroking the wolf that was her companion. Nymeria welcomed her quickly, licking her face but not taking her eyes off the man with the bow and arrow still in hand._

_The breathing dead she human sat astride a horse, her cold eyes somewhat triumphant._

_"Arya…" she hissed in her language of damnation. The girl child jumped and narrowed her eyes at the woman._

_"Mother."_

"Wake up, we're stopping." Someone startled him from his dreams.

The ache and pain from his wounds reached his mind first, and he bit back curses that would have made the Greatjon proud, but his father would have rolled over in his deathly sleep.

He dismounted, stumbling over pebbles and branches, totally at Edwyn's mercy. Blind and bound, he could not remove the blind or untie the ropes tied behind his back. His shoulders were groaning in agony, and he wished to stretch them.

Edwyn sat him down on the ground, pressing his fingers into his injured shoulder where the hole from the quarrel had dug into his bone. He couldn't stop the whistle of air through his teeth as he gritted and hissed with pain.

Edwyn made no apology, and he was forced to sit.

Cross legged on the ground, he twisted his fingers and tried to reach for the knots behind him. He felt them and loosened them slightly.

"No fires tonight, we're getting close to farm country." Edwyn said, rustling grass telling him he sat nearby.

Robb made no conversation. There was nothing to say to his imprisoner, so there were no words.

Edwyn felt need to fill the silence that Robb was enjoying. "Why did you march south?"

Robb looked in his direction, what he hoped was his direction and said "Because my father was wrongly accused and beheaded. It was for honor and duty that I marched south."

Edwyn made no sound and said "Why? He is your father. You would inherit Winterfell if he died. Which he did."

Robb bristled, his temper sparking slightly. This man presumed that he would spill his secrets to him, his darkest thoughts.

"My father died because he did what was honorable. He died falsely accused of crimes he did not and never would, commit. The throne was the last thing my father wanted. I fought for his honor, and for House Stark and for my family."

Edwyn stood and said "you wanted nothing of the throne? All the power it would have given you?"

Robb shook his head. He would speak no more. This man should know this, he had his own father. But Walder Frey and Eddard Stark were as different as North and South. They would have raised their sons differently, very differently.

For a moment, a mere moment in time, he felt a little pity for the man without a decent father to call his own.

But he was a Frey, as guilty as the rest.

**JON POV**

A few words on parchment. A few letters used to form words. So few words could leave him locked in the godswood, far from prying eyes.

_Robb Stark captured. To be beheaded on arrival in King's Landing._

He had no idea who sent the letter, sent him the news that forced him to find solace in his father's gods.

Kneeling before the heart tree, he could almost imagine himself in Winterfell, and the sounds of training brothers could be half brothers, of the same Stark blood as him. He was a Stark, Robb insisted often. Theon would laugh and say as much as he was a Lannister, but Jon learned not to listen to Theon too often.

His sword lay on his knees, shining in the dim gloom of the godswood. His father's gods had never held his interest before. He knew Robb was drawn to them, and had never understood before. But now, he understood what made his brother and father pray before the trees.

He closed his eyes and remembered the last time he saw his brother. It was snowing lightly, just a summer snow. They had embraced, and Robb said he would visit the Wall with him with Bran to see how he was getting along. He wondered if Robb would believe if he said that he was Lord Commander.

Ghost paced at his feet, and he wondered if Grey Wind was with his brother, or killed before he could rip the throats of Robb's captors. His body lying mangled in some shadowed forest, left for crows and other wolves, lesser cousins to eat his remains.

He deserved better then some common animal.

The thoughts and images this thought conjured made him swallow bile and he turned o the ancient face carved into the bone white bark, tears of blood, so brilliant red it looked real.

He bowed his head and whispered "Protect my brother old gods. He is my brother, I need him alive. He promised to see me, with my other brother. Please, save him."

He was left alone in silence. Then footsteps, too heavy to be anyone other then one.

Sam stumbled over a root and looked over at him, and offered him a sort of half smile half grimace.

"Hello Jon." He said, standing in front of him.

Sam sat beside him, avoiding stepping on Ghost's tail.

"You've been here for hours Jon." He stated plainly. Jon nodded, unable to speak.

Sam turned to study the godswood and said "Does it remind you of Winterfell? Of your home?"

Jon bit back the harsh words that rose from his mind. He was grieving his brother, who would end in King's Landing the same as their father. Sam should not be here.  
"Yes." He admitted, and turned back to Sam. "What are you doing here?"

Sam shrugged and said "You've been here alone with only Ghost, so I thought you shouldn't be alone. If it was my brother, I would be devastated."

They sat quietly for a minute, until Sam asked "What was your brother like?"

Jon looked at him and said "Do you want me to make you leave?"

Sam half smiled half grimaced again and said "No. But my mother always said it helped to talk about it."

Jon felt the fight leave his shoulders. He could order him away, send him far away to Eastwatch by the Sea, but he would regret it the next day.

"My brother was a good man. Like my father. Honorable to a fault, and he was pretty good with a sword." Jon shrugged and said "He took after Lady Stark, with red hair, and he was always taller then me, though he was a few moons younger."

Sam nodded and said "he sounds like a good man. Like another man I know."

Jon didn't ask, but continued "he was better at the lance then me, but I beat him often at swords. Theon would laugh when he got beaten, but he would just tell him that to shut up about it. And he always defended me from Lady Stark, even when we were too young to know what she was angry about. He almost killed Theon once when they were sparring and Theon japed about me being a bastard. He cracked his sword over his head and Father was never angrier."

Jon smiled at the memory and sighed "Now he marches for death, for a headsman's sword he doesn't deserve. That little prick of a king will have to be a pretty good swordsman to behead Robb himself."

Sam listened and said "you shouldn't just lock yourself away in the godswood. You're the Lord Commander, and you left Dolorous Ed in charge."

Jon shrugged and said nothing. He had no words to say.

Sam stood and said "You will come out of here for supper, and you will eat with us. You can't hide forever Jon Snow."

And he turned and walked away, stumbling over the occasional tree root.

Jon Snow remained at the heart tree, and could hear Robb urging him on.

"He's your friend, he's trying to help. Go on."

He wanted to shout "your not here, what does it matter to you!"

But he stood and sheathed his sword. Ghost stood dutifully, and they left the godswood behind.

**EDWYN POV**

Edwyn woke quickly today, hands launching to around his throat. He dreamed of the morning, quite a few days ago, when fingers had tightened around his throat, cutting the air from his lungs. He had gasped for breath, and had looked into his killer's eyes. Ice blue eyes that froze his insides with fear when he saw the absolute lack of feeling hidden in their depths. They were the eyes of a killer, who killed for pleasure. Like the eyes of Gregor Clegane when he was young.

He had shot up, and glanced around worriedly. Robb Stark sat stooped over in sleep, soft breathing the only noise in the forest.

He stood and brushed off his breeches. He would be glad to reach King's Landing, where he could get clean and sleep in a real bed.

The snap of a branch made him turn his head. Nothing was behind him.

He dismissed the noise. Most likely an animal of some sort.

He picked up his saddle bag and kicked the king boy, who fell over with an oomph.

"Get up, we should be in King's Landing today." He said. Robb managed to twist himself up and sit again. He uncrossed his legs stiffly and braced himself against a small rock nearby and stood wobbling.

Another snapping branch.

Robb's head spun in the direction of the noise, and he could almost imagine his eyes narrowed at the noise.

Edwyn reached for the dagger at his waist, but it was too late.

The sharp point of another dagger dug into the back of his neck, and a bead of blood trickled down his spine, making him freeze.

"Well lads, look who we have here."

**HA, CLIFFIES! You all must hate me now, but it was so worth it.**

**Who is it that? Who caught Edwyn and Robb? Will they kill them all? **

**You don't know, do ya?**

**You ain't seen Jon Snow coming, did ya? Did ya? Totally surprise. Sorry for out of characterness, if any. I thought I did pretty good, but I'm not a good critic. I think everything I do is awesome.**

**Dear Marina Kai-Fai. You like Theon Greyjoy, do you. HOW? Like, honestly, HOW and WHY?**

**Answer me!**

**And Patrick, how would you suggest pulling Tyrion out of the Robb breakout? I need input and opinions.**

**THANKS FOR THE LOVE **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire**

**EDWYN POV**

Edwyn didn't turn to face the man behind him; instead he asked "Who are you?"

The man leaned over his shoulder, his breath stinking of cheap ale. "My name is to fine to be spoken through your weasel lips Frey. So you stay nice and quiet and I won't spear you from behind."

Edwyn watched several more men coming out from the trees, wearing scarves tied around their mouths, leaving only their eyes visible. Robb remained standing.

"What's going on?" he demanded, circling slowly, fists raised. "Edwyn, where"

He was cut off as a man stepped forward, his fist driving into his face and sending him crashing into the ground. Another man kicked at him, and Robb struggled to stand. Fists and feet found their mark, and Robb managed to knock a man over, cracking his head on stone and his brains spilled out.

Everyone froze and he said "This green boy's a fighter, lads. Beat him till he screams."

The beating continued, and Edwyn was forced to watch.

"Stop it." He shouted as one brought a knife from the folds of their clothing. Robb was bleeding and bruised on the ground, hands thrown up to defend himself.

"Leave him be. That's a prisoner for the king." He said.

Someone grabbed Robb's arm and heaved him to his feet, where he barely stood. He was glancing around, but the blindfold left everything in the dark.

He spat blood onto the ground and Edwyn said "he's a lord's son I caught, a rebel lord. I'm taking him to King's Landing to be put on trial."

The men all remained standing, about three of them, and the man behind him said "well Frey weasel, looks like we're in the same business. You can call me Elot."

The point of the dagger left, and he turned slowly to face the man. He had one eye missing, the other a light hazel brown. He had long blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, ragged and uncut. A grim scar traced over his missing eye socket and across his nose.

"Like what you see weasel?" he asked. Edwyn stopped staring and asked "who are you?"

He showed him the sigil on his chest, a faded lion more brown then gold on a field of black.

"We were in Ser Jaime's army, but we ran soon as the killing was down. But we're still lions. Catching little northern men wandering around and we execute them. Who's this little northerner?"

Edwyn backed away slightly and said "a soldier from Bear Island, the Mormonts I believe. He's from the north, and I'm taking him to King's Landing on the King's orders."

Elot sheathed his dagger and laughed.

"tie up the little bastard lads. We're  
escorting Lord Weasel to the capital with his fair prisoner." Elot said. The men grunted and taking the king by his arms, they dragged him away to where their horses were tethered.

Elot turned back to him and said "I know a liar when I smell one Lord Weasel. That boy may be a northerner, but he isn't any bear. Barely even a man, that one."

Edwyn shook his head and said "Fine. He's a Winterfell soldier, with the Starks."

Elot nodded and smiled, revealing a round two teeth in his mouth.

"Well Lord Weasel, my sniffer smells no lies, so you'll ride with us to the snake pit of a city. We'll escort you personally."

Edwyn nodded and said "Thank you Elot."

Elot showed him his grim smile and said "Let's ride for the snake pit. The sun gonna keep going and we don't have daylight to waste."

The bandits were quiet company, making no sounds. Robb was once again tied to his saddle, and he could see several bruises forming along his face and jaw. Edwyn was at the front, riding alongside Elot. The other three, Kip, Hoster and Jaquel were his hired thugs. Kip was a farmer from the West lands, Hoster a man from Braavosi and Jaquel from the Summer Islands, but grew up in the Free Cities.

Where the three thugs were quiet, Elot was quite talkative, telling him about his life, and that of his three lackeys. Edwyn listened quietly, and he knew Robb was listening too, thought he appeared to be sleeping.

The sun was colder today, and the air smelled of the coming winter. He shivered slightly under his cloak as Elot continued about his raid on a northern camp. The way he was going on about stealing the Greatjon's own barrel of ale, and fighting hand with the Smalljon, he knew he was lying. If it took seven Freys to even lay a mark on Smalljon, he doubted the reedy man could come even three feet close to him with any sort of weapon and make it out alive, and with his arms intact.

But Edwyn didn't call out the man on his lies and Elot kept talking. Soon, the sun was sinking lower in the sky and King's Landing came into sight.

Then he heard the sound of shouts and horses.

Edwyn turned in his seat and spotted several horses behind them.

"Curse those bloody northern men." He said.

Elot glanced back and spotted the massive direwolves leading the pack.

"Shit, what the hell are those monsters?" he said, spurring his horse on faster. Robb looked back blindly, and he shouted "Grey Wind!"

The direwolf howled, a long low sound and Edwyn's heart raced.

"We have to get to King's Landing. Those wolves will kill us all faster than anyone could draw a sword. Speed up." He said.

The bandits didn't need encouragement. They sped along, Elot letting the reins of Robb's horse go and racing ahead with his three thugs.

Edwyn turned back to the coming northerners and he grabbed the loose reins of Robb's horse. Dragging the boy off the horse, he drew his dagger from before and placed the point of it over his heart.

The horses came closer, and he dug the point deep enough to draw a droplet of blood that slid over his fingers.

The horses, rather small horses that you would see on a farm, were ridden by rather road weary men with shields and swords of different armies on their arms. He even saw a Frey cloak soaked in blood, likely from his brothers that he sent back days earlier.

The lead man in a red cloak said "let the boy go Frey. We won't hurt you.'

He started to drag Robb back and said "You'll kill me anyway. And I'll kill the King in the North if you try to kill me."

The bandits circled around him, the horses' breath fogging in the cold air.

One man with fiery red hair and the Tully fish on his chest said "Your Grace, are you alright?"

Edwyn moved his grip to around Robb's throat and cut off whatever he was going to say.

"No talking."

One little boy, maybe ten drew his dagger and shouted "  
"Let him go you bastard!"

Edwyn said "Soon as I do that you'll kill me anyway. This king boy is my hope to live."

Robb's head had turned in the direction of the young boy and asked "Arya?"

The little boy's face turned stony and said "Let him go."

Edwyn started dragging him backwards, towards the capital about a mile away. The horses followed, and someone hidden under a black cloak hissed like a snake.

The two direwolves, one small and one larger growled and padded slowly towards him, circling him slowly. He pressed the dagger point deeper and said "Tell your wolves to back off or I'll slit his throat."

The red head man said nothing, but the boy said "Nymeria, Grey wind, here."

The two wolves backed away slowly, but their eyes stayed on him and Grey Wind snarled and barked at him, showing pearly white fangs.

Then, the sound of shouts and arrows rained down on the circle of people. A group of Lannister warriors, about twenty, twenty five of them were on horseback heading over. Elot, Hoster, Kip and Jaquel were among them, and he saw the giant war hammer in Kip's fist, swinging with enough strength to remove a man's head clean from his shoulders.

The wolves barked and ran at the horsemen, sending several men flying as their horses reared, eyes white with fear. The wolves pounced and their screams echoed in Edwyn's ears.

The rest of the Lannister cavalry ran forward, breaking the bandit circle and surrounding him. He heard a hissing scream, coming from the woman in the black cloak. He shivered and one man dragged a horse over.

He offered him a hand up. He smiled brightly, and said "you brought a lot more than the king with you today Frey."

Edwyn tried to drag Robb along toward the horse, but he broke free and in his bound hands was the dagger. He pointed it around him and reached forward, cutting the blindfold away from his eyes. Blinded, he looked around blindly and shouted "Arya!"

Edwyn spotted the little boy from before look up, far from the battle on a black horse as the red head man he was riding with crossed swords with another Lannister soldier. He steered the horse over and charged, the two wolves flanking his sides.

He swept through the Lannister lines and Robb stumbled over, his legs weak and trembling. He leapt onto the horse with ease, but another Lannister grabbed the reins of the horse, and one dragged the king off the horse.

"Robb!" the boy shouted, stabbing the dagger in the Lannister soldier's hand, who released the reins. Robb struggled, swinging his fist and knocking him in the head. The Lannister soldier kept his grip and dragged Robb onto his horse, and the little boy was forced away by the swords of other Lannisters.

"Robb!" he shouted, trying to get back to the king. The Lannister man muffled shouts, and drew his hand back where it bled deeply from the dagger. Robb struggled, but the man swung his fist into Robb's jaw, throwing his head back. Another punch to the face and Robb was dazed, slumped over the back of the horse.

"Move out!" someone amongst the Lannister party shouted. Edwyn clutched the horse as they broke away from the battle. Several horses ran off after them, their riders lying motionless on the ground.

Edwyn swallowed bile and turned to the capital that was coming closer into view. The bandits were racing after them, and the larger direwolf dragged down a horsemen lagging behind the others. He screamed as the wolf tore into his neck and his blood splattered the ground red.

The bandits were closing in as the city loomed closer, and the smell washed over him, making him gag. He spotted Elot ahead of him, who grinned at him, showing his three teeth.

The gate to King's Landing loomed over Edwyn's head, massive stone that was so far above that he couldn't even imagine how it was built.

As they passed through the gates, that were just high enough for them to get through, and as the last horseman entered, they started to lower.

The bandits shouted and moved faster still, horse hooves thundering across the ground like a storm cloud. Edwyn backed away, and the Lannister guards aimed spears at the gate.

AS it finally slid shut, the bandits arrived, breathless and angry.

"Hid behind your bloody wall you Lannister bastards. We'll find you one day." One man hissed. The black cloaked creature paced across the gate, and he felt cold empty eyes following him, with such hatred it sent shivers down his spine.

"Get along you bloody whelps, before we chase you off with your cocks between your legs." Elot spit in their direction and turned to Edwyn.

He slapped his back and said "Good job Lord Weasel. Fine job done, if I do say so myself."

Edwyn nodded, but his eyes never left the black cloaked creatures until it turned, and the bandits raced off on horses.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief.

**SANSA POV**

She watched the procession from the entrance of the Red Keep, at Joffrey's side as he gave her his wormy lipped smirk. Cersei was standing straight and proud, a small smile gracing her lips.

The Lannister guard that rescued the Frey that brought her brother marched with them, wearing travel weary clothes and his shoulders were stooped by some heavy weight.

Robb was in chains, his hands chained together at the wrists and one around his neck, two chains on either side in the hands of the two Lannisters flanking him. Sansa felt the pain in her heart, as her brother limped and stumbled amongst the silence of the crowds of smallfolk. His tunic was stained with blood, and there were bruises and cuts lining his face. He looked up at her and tried for a reassuring smile.

As he approached, one guard shoved him to his knees, but he stayed there for three seconds before struggling back to his feet.

He didn't look at her, but turned to Joffrey and said "I always wondered if the rumors about King's Landing were true. It really does smell like Tywin Lannister's golden shit."

The crowd remained silent, and Sansa saw several people ducking their heads to smother their smiles. She fought to keep her face neutral, but inside she was smiling.

Joffrey's face turned pink and Cersei said "You will show the King's grandfather more respect than that you treasonous wolf. Kneel before your king."

Robb spit on the ground, red blood, and said "I see no king. Only a bastard boy and his lying, murderess mother. No king in sight."

Joffrey's face turned a deeper shade of pink and he said "Mother, I command that he be executed. Ser Payne, my sword."

Cersei placed a hand on Joffrey's shoulder and said "You can kill the traitor tomorrow You Grace. Tonight, Lord Stark will learn what it really means to insult the lions of Casterly Rock."

Robb finally turned to her, and she was surprised with how weak he looked. Skin stretched tightly over his face, sunken eyes, and his knees shook as he stood proudly before Joff. She hadn't seen her brother like this before. This wasn't really her brother.

This was the King in the North.

The guards dragged him away, tugging on the chains around his neck and leading him down to the black cells where they kept their worst prisoners.

Where they kept her father before removing his head from his shoulders.

Sansa waited till she was alone in her room before letting her tears flow freely. They streamed down her face, and she could feel nothing but fear and horror in her heart as she thought of Joffrey wielding the same sword that murdered her father, and was now going to murder her brother.

Wiping the tears, she bent down and pulled the saddle bag from under her bed, and opened it.

Her most modest riding dresses and the golden knife she had swiped from the dinner she had a couple days back. It gleamed dully, and she slid it into her sleeve. She had never wielded a knife before, but in King's Landing, in the Red Keep, she could use some steel on her side.

Later that night, before she changed into a shift, someone knocked on her door.

Ser Meryn Trant stood in his white armor, his face invisible under his helm, except for his eyes.

"The king wishes to see you in the black cells my lady." He said gruffly, grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly from her room.

She tied a cloak around her shoulders and reluctantly followed.

As they descended the slick stone steps, the air grew steadily colder. She couldn't help but shiver under her thin shift and tug her cloak tighter around her. Ser Trant gave no sign that he was even the slightest cold.

Soon, there was a red glow in the darkness, and Sansa spotted Joffrey's golden hair gleaming in the firelight. She also spotted Cersei in regal Lannister crimson, wearing a golden cloak over her shoulders.

"Good evening my lady." Joffrey said in the voice of chivalry that Sansa would have swooned at before, but now filled her with disgust. She almost wondered why the king wanted her, until she spotted the figure behind them.

Chained to the wall and stripped of bandages and shirt, her brother tugged on the manacles around his wrist uselessly.

She tore her eyes from her brother and said "Please Your Grace, you are a noble king. This betrayer is already injured. Why not let him suffer alone in darkness before you remove his head?"

Joffrey laughed and said "We betrayed the rightful heir to the throne and must be punished for his treachery. He imprisoned my Uncle Jaime, and that alone is a crime."  
Joffrey waved a hand and another Kingsguard stepped from the shadows, a whip uncoiling from his fist.

Sansa backed away and said "Don't hurt him please. He is a traitor, not deserving of your attention. Please your Grace, let him be."

The whip flashed and Sansa didn't have time to even step back as it carved a red path through her brother, and blood flowed freely. His face twisted with pain, but he said nothing, not even a word.

Cersei stepped back and said  
Come sweet Sansa, if you are not working with you traitor brother, come step closer and listen to him scream."

Meryn Trant pushed her closer, and Sansa stumbled. Another lash and Robb still didn't scream.

"Ser Trant, whip Sansa if Lord Stark does not wish to scream." Joffrey said.

Trant nodded once and lashed again. Robb's screams echoed around the silence of the black cells, echoing around and around in her head.

"Don't hurt him." She begged, tears coming in her eyes. Another lash and this scream was even louder still. Robb finally stopped, going limp against the chains until they were the only thing holding him up. His chest bled freely, deep crimson rivulets that dripped down his chest and splattered to the ground. Sansa held back a sob and Joffrey said. "Once more Ser Trant."

Her brother didn't move this time, only his fingers curling into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Joffrey laughed and stepped closer to her brother.

"I hope that hurt Lord Stark. I will put you out of your misery tomorrow." He growled in a threatening voice. Robb opened his eyes blearily and he whispered "Go to hell."

Sansa wanted to scream for Joffrey to stop, but the fist was moving before she could utter a word. It bounced harmlessly off his chest, and Joffrey said "I hope you enjoy your night Stark. It will certainly be your last."

He strode away, taking his mother and Ser Trant with him. Cersei cast a scathing look at Sansa and said "Bind his lash marks so he doesn't bleed out by morning. We execute him at dawn."

And the cell door closed with a slam.

As soon as their footsteps faded, Sansa was at her brother's side. Robb lifted his head and asked "Are you alright?"

Robb shook his head and said thickly "M'fine. You?"

Sansa laughed softly as she took of her cloak, binding it around Robb's torso.

"I'm fine." She whispered to him. Robb shook his head and said "Bruise."

She realized that the bruise on her cheek from Joffrey's last beating was still visible on her face, and she hid it under her hair.

"I fell a few days ago, that is all. I'm fine." She assured him. Robb's eyes dropped and his head sagged. Sansa finished the last knot and reached for the chains around his wrists.

Taking the dagger in her sleeve, she broke the rusted lock and his arm swung down. The other arm soon followed and Robb crashed to the ground with a thud.

She knelt beside him and Robb sat up, propping his back against the dark stone wall.

He held his head in his hands and said M'sorry I couldn't save you. Like knights in stories."

Sansa felt her heart shatter and she said "You didn't fail Robb. You tried and you beat the Lannisters. You captured Jaime Lannister, and you destroyed some a lot of their army. I have a plan to get us free."

She ducked her head and whispered about the meeting with Tyrion Lannister, and he nodded slowly.

"I missed you Sansa." He said, wrapping one arm around her and hugging her tightly. She let the tears flow free now and whispered back "I missed you too Robb. I hate that you're here, I'm so happy I get to see you."

He gave her a half grin and said "Even like this?"

She nodded and said "Even half dead like this."

**Not a very good chapter in my opinion. Oh well. REVIEW IF IT'S NOT AS LAME AS I THOUGHT!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire.**

**RUGOR POV**

He banged on the iron gate door again, feeling the skin on his knuckles break away and blood slipped through his fingers.

It only made him pound harder still.

The rest of the Brotherhood without Banners sat outside the gate, lost in their own thoughts. Lady Stoneheart stood like the shadow of death, her cold eyes watching the guardsmen and the look of evil and hate sent cold beads of sweat dripping down his back.

The little boy who turned out to be Arya Stark, Robb Stark's sister, was sitting in between the two monster direwolves who growled at anything that moved. Grey Wind seemed lost, and Rugor could almost say that he was mourning his lost companion.

Another fist and more blood pooled, turning his hand into a glove of red.

No one had chased them off yet, with swords and fires and spears like they said. They had a view of the steps of the Red Keep, where his king would die, and he would be locked out, and unable to help him.

Another fist.

Arya stood and the direwolves stood with her. It was nightfall now, cold winds blowing over the land carrying flecks of snow spinning in the wind. Arya went and stood at his side, observing the iron gate as if it was nothing but a pile of snow in her way.

"We need to get through." She said. Everyone turned to look at her and Gendry asked "How my lady?"

Arya glared at him as he used those words and said "I will not let them leave us out here to watch my brother's head roll."

She shook the bars and judged the gaps in between. Barely big enough for a thin child, Rugor or anyone else amongst the men would have not even the slightest chance of slipping through.

Arya took the iron bars in one hand and hoisted herself up, sliding her legs through the holes in the gate. Her feet slipped through, her legs, until only her head and chest were still on their side.

"I'll slip through and find the key. Someone hand me my dagger. I'll kill the guard and let you in." she said.

Rugor grabbed her wrist before she could slip through and said "you can't. You could get killed. If I can't protect the king I'll protect his sister."

Arya shook his hand off and took the offered dagger.

"Well, you can follow if you can slip through the gate." She said, and jumped down silent as a ghost. She slipped away into the shadows, leaving Rugor and the Brotherhood watching and waiting.

Lady Stoneheart hissed and the direwolves lay back down, totally at ease except for Grey Wind, who howled loudly.

The yellow cloaked man pressed his hands over his ears and said "Someone shut that thing up."

Rugor sighed and sat down. All they could do was wait.

**ARYA POV**

Quiet as a shadow.

The shadows of King's Landing were never silent, always concealing some beggar or drunken man or raped woman in their darkness. Arya snuck past the loud bars and brothels and searched for the guard making his rounds. Then, a flash of crimson.

She ducked behind a corner as the guard passed, talking loudly with his friend. They both stumbled as they walked, and she spotted the glimmering key at his belt.

Slipping the dagger free and stepped forward and tried to look pathetic.

"Coin please." She said, folding up one dirty palm. The two guards looked down at her and laughed. One knelt and said "you look like a northern bitch little rat. You want some money from the rich lions?"

The other standing guard laughed and he asked "Who's you brother, little bitch, the Young Wolf?"

They laughed and Arya pulled out the dagger, stabbing the man in the throat. The other stumbled back and drew his sword. Arya was quicker, and the cold steel silenced the man before he could even shout.

Wiping their blood on their crimson breeches, she took the key from their belt and said "I'm Arya Stark. And the north remembers."

She took off running, slipping back into shadows before anyone could discover her near the bodies. That was another two men she killed. The stable boy, the man at Harrenhal, and these two.

Taking the key, she examined the tiny piece of forged metal. It was worth two men's' lives. It seemed so small to cost two men their lives.

Placing the key in her teeth, she continued to run.

She reached the gate quickly, and spotted the lock. Sliding it in, the click was almost smothered in the darkness. It swung open silently, and the Brotherhood entered silent as shadows.

Rugor crossed his arms over his chest and said "Never do that again."

Arya said "No one tells me what to do."  
Lady Stoneheart passed without so much as a glance, but Gendry nodded to her. Cold fury burned like fire in her veins, and she glared darkly at him. Stupid boys never understand anything. He abandoned her and left her to starve in the woods. She didn't need his help, but the weeks were long and cold and lonely.

Thoros of Myr took charge, whispering "We'll find a stable for the night, and no bars or brothels."

Several men opened their mouths to complain, but Lady Stoneheart hissed. Everyone fell silent and Thoros continued "we can't risk getting lost or separated. We get in, find somewhere to spend the night, and get out."  
Everyone nodded and Arya said "There was a stable I saw near here. But it was only two stalls wide, we won't all fit."

Thoros nodded and Tom said "There's an inn over there, we can get warm beds for the night."

Arya turned and glanced at the inn, which was loud and warm and squealing girls could be heard over the music.

"Fine." Thoros said. The brotherhood flocked the inn and Thoros paid for rooms. She ended up sharing with Rugor and Gendry, and she glared at them before burrowing under the covers and closing her eyes, pretending to sleep.

Rugor stood and Gendry asked "Is her brother really a king?"

Rugor didn't answer at first, but paused a moment and said "Yes. The north elected him their king and he was crowned at Riverrun. There was no official ceremony, but he wears a crown and he commands the men well."  
Gendry said nothing and asked "Then Lady Arya is really a lady then."

Rugor snorted and said "that little wolf is no Lady. I met Lyanna Stark when they passed through to the tournament at Harrenhal years ago. I was only nine, but I saw Lyanna Stark then, and she is the very image of her aunt. And no one called Lyanna a lady to her face in court. She was a true north spirit."  
Gendry said nothing and he asked almost in a whisper "Did you see the king there, at Harrenhal."

Rugor said "Yes, saw him in the joust myself. White blonde hair and violet eyes. He rode down every person and won the tourney, crowning Lyanna."  
Gendry said "No, not the dragon prince. King Robert."

Rugor said "I didn't see king Baratheon at the tourney; he was either with his bed warmer or with his friend Lord Stark."

Arya opened her eye slightly, and saw the blurry shape of Gendry's back to her and Rugor walking away."

She closed her eyes and tried to wrap her head around it. Why was Gendry asking about King Robert? It made no sense.

Sleep tugged at her mind, and under the warmth of the blankets, Arya let sleep come.

**SANSA POV**

Sansa had no idea when morning came. She was trapped in forever darkness, the torch from the night before burned out into a few dying embers. She shut her eyes and grasped someone's hand.

The [person grunted and she opened her eyes. She couldn't see him, but she knew it was Robb. She gripped his hand tighter and asked "Robb, are you alright?"

Robb grunted again and said "I would like to keep my hand if I can't keep my head."

Sansa released her grip instantly, thanking the darkness to hide her blush.

"Sorry Robb.' She whispered.

Sound of movement and Robb's shoulder hit hers. He groaned and she helped him sit, grabbing the rough cloth of her cloak and pulling him up.

He grunted again and she felt his hand on her shoulder, holding himself up.

"What time is it?" he asked, almost in fear. Sansa smiled, though he couldn't se it and placed her hand on his.

"I don't know, but don't worry. Remember the plan." She whispered.

Robb was silent for a second and said "I can't trust any Lannisters. I imprisoned his brother, how can he want to save me."

Sansa shrugged and said "We just have to trust him."

Suddenly, there was light, light so bright she couldn't see a thing. Blinking stars from her eyes, she saw a figure with dark hair and red scars over his face.

"Come on then, let's get his head off and over the gate." Someone said. The stars vanished and Sansa blinked. Sandor Clegane looked down at her, a stony look on his face. Her brother looked even worse in firelight. His face was thrown into hideous relief, and he looked even thinner and paler. The cloak was already russet with blood, and he glanced down at his chest and grasped his shoulder, his fingers pulling away red.

Sansa turned to her brother as he seemed to lose strength and collapse to the ground. He looked around dazed and confused, and struggled to focus on her face.

"What?' he whispered, but Sansa shushed him and ripped the hem of her dress, tying it over his shoulder. She forgot his shoulder, and it bled through the night. Now, the ground was damp with liquid, his blood. The amount made her hands shake and she felt fear boiling in the pit of her belly. Tears pricked at her eyes and she heard someone kneel beside her.

The Hound pulled off his cloak and wrapped it tight over his shoulder, and swinging his one arm over his shoulder, he helped Robb stand.

Sansa watched as the Hound hefted her brother to his feet and he said "come on, we're finding a master to make sure your brother doesn't die before his execution. Come on little bird."

**Thanks to MB18932 to having my back, Phoenixflames12 for all the wonderful reviews that made me smile, Marina Kai-Fai for never failing to review a chapter once, and Patrick for his thoughtful input. You all feel like friends to me.**

**THANKS FOR THE LOVE, but this sure as heck isn't the end. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Loving all the love. THANKS FOR THE LOVE! I love you all!**

**SANSA POV**

She followed along silently, and saw tiny droplets of blood on the stone steps as they came closer to sunlight.

It was almost too bright, after hours in the black cells. Her brother was carried along, his feet dragging on the floor as the Hound carried him up the stairs. Sansa trailed behind them, and she couldn't help but pray to the gods; any gods, to save her brother.

They entered the Red Keep, and almost immediately collided with Maester Pycelle.

He straightened his robe and examined Robb slowly, seeing the deep wounds still bleeding.

"Get you bandages old man, you got a new patient." The Hound told him gruffly, and Maester Pycelle blinked four times before responding "that is Robb Stark, who the king is to behead today."

The Hound nodded and said "Unless you want him dry of blood as a Dornish desert, you'll fix him up enough that he'll at least be able to walk to the headsman's block."

Maester Pycelle nodded and said "Come quickly then, before he bleeds all over the floor."

They were lead to a small room just before the steps to the Maester's chambers, and the hound grunted "I can't carry him up those gods' damned stairs. This room is as good as any other."

Maester Pycelle turned to Sansa and said "run upstairs and fetch some herbs and linen bandages from the maester office. We'll need them."

He had given her the list of herbs and sent her off. Sansa nodded and ran for the stairs, flying over the stone steps to the maester's office. Two ravens in cages turned on her with beady eyes, but she had been in Luwin's office before, so she wasn't frightened.

She snatched up the herbs the maester had told her to grab and fought the fear tingling in her heart and rushing through her veins, pounding in her head.

She raced down the stairs twice as quickly, and entered the room and froze.

The Hound had untied her cloak and his and the gaping wounds in the sunlight looked even worse. The Freys had given them no time to heal, and the stitches that had once been in place were torn and broken, and the skin hadn't grown back. The room stank of something poisoned, the infection deep in the wounds. There were massive bruises the size of the Hounds fists scattered over his chest and sides, dark purple and black where they beat him. And she saw the hints of whip lashes on his back, most likely from the Freys.

His face was beaded with sweat, and he convulsed on the tiny cot they had set him in. his eyes were closed shut tightly.

The Hound had pinned him by his shoulders, keeping him as still as possible as the Maester Pycelle threaded the needle to stitch the quarrel holes closed.

She ran to his side immediately, clutching his shaking hand in hers and terrified as it was ice cold.

"What happened?" she asked, sweeping the auburn curls out of his eyes.

"He has been ill with fever this whole time, weeks now. His body is too weak to fight the infection of the wounds now, and the fever is still in his body." Pycelle said.

The Hound glanced at her and she felt the color drain from her face. She had learned from Maester Luwin what happened when the body was too weak to fight infection and fever.

"He will die." She whispered.

**RUGOR POV**

The night had been a comfortable one, the first night he had slept in a bed since he left Riverrun maybe a week ago. He had gone down and had a few drinks with the rest of the Brotherhood, and barely managed to climb the stairs. He had fallen onto his bed and fallen asleep immediately.

Unfortunately, when he drank, he always had nightmares.

_The day was clear, the sky shining blue and not a hint of winter in the warm summer sun and cool summer breeze._

_They were gathered outside Baelor the Blessed, where Eddard Stark lost his head first. Now Joffrey wielded the sword that shone red and black in the sunlight. Rugor himself was in the midst of the crowd, at the very front, so close he could see the mad gleam in Joffrey's eyes._

_Then, the crowd muttered darkly as from the great doors strode two Lannister guards carrying between them Robb Stark in chains. His head hung low, his ruby hair like fire in the sunlight. No one cheered or booed. The crowd of smallfolk was utterly silent._

_They made Robb kneel at the headsman's block, and his hair hung over his face. Joffrey raised the sword, and shouted over the deafening silence "I, King Joffrey, will kill you."_

_The sword swung and Robb looked up, but it wasn't Robb._

_His own face looked down at him as the sword cleaved through his neck and sent his head rolling to the ground. No one cheered, and Rugor glanced down at himself. He was thinner and shorter than normal, but still taller than many. His hands were calloused from the hilt of a sword, and he wore white and grey, a grey direwolf stitched into his shirt. Something heavy was sitting on his head, and he took it off._

_The bronze base was not delicately crafted, but the tiny iron swords that circled the base were still detailed and sharp. _

_He dropped the crown and the loud clanging forced every eye towards him._

_Lannister guards appeared from nowhere, dragging him towards the king and his sword. His own body had been kicked off the headsman's block, his blood staining where his neck had sat moments before. He knelt, and Joffrey gave him a twisted, wormy smile._

_"Robb Stark of Winterfell. I never imagined I'd have the pleasure of killing two Starks." He laughed, high and shrill and the sword swung down._

He sat straight, breathing heavy and sweat ran down past him temple. The same sun from his dream cast warm rays through the closed shutters, and he stood out of bed. Arya and Gendry were both gone, downstairs to break their fast. He threw his shirt and breeches on and grabbed his sword, sheathing it at his side. Taking a dagger, he gently cut the thread holding the trout of the Tullys on his shirt and let it fall to the ground.

Wearing that would get him arrested and probably killed.

He went downstairs for food, and found the rest of the Brotherhood with iron faces and iron swords at their sides.

Thoros of Myr faced him with a grim face and said "The execution is at noon, ad the entire city is invited to watch the false king die. We have a few hours before the rescue."

Rugor nodded and sheathed the sword at his side, hiding it under his massive cloak.

"Well, let's get to the steps of Baelor the Blessed."

The Brotherhood moved out, moving easily through the crowds gathered outside milling around and shouting out wares for sale. Rugor had never been to the capital, and now smelling it for the first time, he didn't regret it. The smell of hundreds, nearing thousands of people living in bad conditions in close confines, along with several hundred horses and other animals, made the city stink to the high heavens.

Arya ducked a punch from two boys wrestling in the streets and said "I can go ahead and maybe free Robb from the Red Keep. I know the way; I snuck out of the castle."

Rugor shook his head and said "You would be caught first before you made it close to the King's cell. Then Joffrey would have another Stark to behead."

Arya glowered at him, but bit her lip and muttered something about stupid boys.

The area was already filling with people coming to watch the execution, talking about it and some drunken men were shouting out bets for how many times Joffrey would need to swing to cut off the king's head. Some small children ran around laughing and giggling, catching and shoving each other. One little boy tried to shove Arya, but she drew her knife and glowered at the boy ma few years older than her. She pointed the knife at him and he had run off shouting.

Lady Stoneheart drew the cowl more over her face, hiding her from the brilliant sunlight shining down harshly on the occupants of the city and Thoros seemed to be relishing the warmth. It was an oddly warm day considering the looming winter that was close to arriving. But you would never know it from the singing birds and clear sky.

"How soon till noon?" he heard one man mutter. Several nodded and turned to Thoros.

He glanced at the sun and said "An hour at most. Maybe less."

Then, a man in Lannister crimson and a golden cloak flowing form his shoulders stepped from inside the sept, carrying a headsman's block in his arms. The crowd fell silent quickly and watched the man march out into direct sunlight, making the golden cape glimmer and shine brightly, almost blinding. He set the block down and turned on heel, striding back into the sept and paying no more mind to the crowd of silent small folk then he would a fly or gust of wind.

The doors closed again with a heavy, resounding thud and the conversation continued, more urgent now. As f the small folk sensed the tension of the hour.

A bead of sweat rode down Rugor's spine, and he could not help the cold shivers as he saw the dried blood crusting the block of stone.

Another hour…

**SANDOR POV**

To be honest, the Hound was surprised that the wolf boy was still alive at this point. The little bird had tears in her eyes, and she clutched the boy's hand tightly as his shivering became weaker and his breathing slower. The old man had clasped his hands together and said "He wouldn't survive the night my lady, it would be a mercy to kill him now."

She had turned on the old man with a fury he didn't know she possessed and said "I won't let him die. I rather he dies from fever then from a sword that Joffrey would swing."

The old man stared at her and the little bird realized what she had said. She blushed and muttered her apologies, always the courteous little bird. He snorted and said "I have a dagger; you want the Gift of Mercy."

The little bird turned her eyes on him, filled with horror.

"No! You can't!" she told him, stepping between him and her brother. The wolf boy groaned and thrashed again. The Hound laughed at the little bird and said "you sing a different tune then usual little bird. I didn't know you knew that song."

She blushed pink and lowered her head a bit, but still said strongly "you won't kill him."

The Hound shrugged and took a seat, her seat and leaned back against the wall.

The wolf boy thrashed and his fist came swinging back. The Hound ducked in time as it swung, nearly hitting him in the face. He grabbed his wrist and pinned him back on the bed.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, and the boy's eyes flew open.

"Robb." The little bird smiled and crouched beside her brother.

He blinked and looked at her and a smile stretched across his face.

He struggled to sit, and the Hound released his wrist.

"Watch where you swing your fist wolf boy. I might take that hand."

The boy had the guts to stare him down for a moment before turning to his sister.

"How?' he asked weakly, and the Hound spotted the pain flash across his face before he masked it under a forced smile for his sister.

The little bird said "the Hound carried you up and to the maester. Maester Pycelle healed you and saved you."

The old man cleared his throat softly and said "He might not make it. His body is weak from fever and infection and he can barely fight one of them, let alone both at once."

The Hound saw the blank face that always came to the little bird whenever she heard something horrible about her family or her home. He grabbed the old man by his shoulders and pinned him to the wall, drawing the dagger at his belt and pointing it at his bobbing throat.

"Seven hells shut your mouth before I break your teeth. Make sure the wolf boy can walk to the block in an hour. That's all!" He barked.

The old man nodded vigorously and he drew the dagger back. He released the old man, who crumpled to the ground as he let him go. A warm wetness was spreading across the old man's robe, and he straightened.

"I can't stand you bloody maesters." He muttered, moving to a chair ad grabbing the bottle of Arbor red sitting nearby for a patient's pain. The wolf boy was leaning back on the bed, but the little bird was watching him with wide eyes. He ignored her and drank deeply from the dusty bottle, wiping his mouth and glaring around the room.

The little bird turned back to her brother who was comforting her in a soft voice. He saw the way his hands shook, and the determination to mask the fear from his only family. The boy was afraid to die. But he wouldn't let his sister see that. He would be strong for her first.

Another swallow or Arbor and the Hound glowered at the old man as he bustled around the room collecting herbs to give strength.

Bloody old man.

**I don't think I hit the Hound's character very well. Oh well. Sorry if it seems short or out of character or anything.**

**Oh, new story up. Never Forget, that's the story. Please check it out, it is GOT.**


	15. Chapter 15

**So…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire.**

**JOFFREY POV**

Crossing his arms, he internally sighed as yet another lord stepped forward to complain about something or another. His mother flashed his a reassuring smile, but that did nothing to prevent his annoyance from bubbling into his voice.

"Yes Lord?" he glanced at one of the pages who muttered "Lord Steele Your Grace."

The tall heavy set Lord Steele nodded and said "I have surrendered to your rule Your Grace, and have made all my banner men surrender that I could. I plead now for my son to be returned to me, to bring him home to his ailing and dying mother."

Joffrey fingered the sharp edges of this throne and smiled at the thought. His throne. He was king, not his wretched, drunken father. His one uncle was dead, and his other was forced back to his tiny island where there was no chance of scrounging up enough men to fight his grandfather's army. And the northern dog was imprisoned downstairs, to be executed within the hour.

He looked down at the new northern dog, who wore the sigil of a silver moon and four black ravens. He had never heard of this house, so it must be poor and useless. Why should he grant this request?

He smirked at the northern dog and said in his ringing voice "No. you betrayed the crown and the throne, and you will be punished. You have more sons, so this one can be put to the sword. Send a raven to Lord Frey that he is to execute anyone bearing the name Steele."

The man's face had drained of color, but he said in a strong, commanding voice that was used to battle "if this is the reign that the land will suffer through, I will take my men and march them home. Forget the north in your kingdom you bastard."

Joffrey stood and barked out "I am no bastard. King Robert is my father, who beat my mother. I am your king, and you will do as I say. The north is part of my kingdom, so there."

He sat down in the throne and said "Take him to meet his traitor king in the black cells. Make sure i can hear his screams from here."

The Lannister guards grabbed the man by his arms and dragged him from the throne room, and the air seemed to clear of the northern stench as he did so.

He glanced out the window and asked "Mother, I grow bored of these silly trifles. When shall I mount the Stark dog's head over the gate?"

His mother swept forward in Lannister crimson and said "Not for another hour your highness. Not another hour."

Joffrey sighed and said "Well, I'm the king and my word is law. Fetch the wolf boy, I'll have him bend the knee before I lope his head off."  
the Lannisters nodded and strode from the room, gold and red gleaming in the sun.

His mother smiled and ushered the other lords and council members from the throne room, leaving him and his mother alone.

"You are wise to make him bend the knee my golden boy. The north will submit if we make their liege lord bow to the true king."  
Joffrey shook his head and said "and if they don't bend, we can kill them all one by one and burn the north to the ground."

Cersei smiled at him and kissed his forehead.

"That is a true king your grace."

SANSA POV

The Lannister guards arrived quickly, grabbed Robb by his arms and pulled him up. He swayed shakily; his body wracked with shudders.

"Sers, he is not fit to stand. Please, he needs rest." She pleaded, and the Lannisters laughed. The Hound was too drunk to even stumble to his feet, four bottles of Arbor at his feet.

"The king has had enough of the fine false king parading around his castle. The execution is now." The one on the left said.

The other laughed and they released Robb's arms, making him drop to the floor.

They laughed again and Sansa knelt at his side, pulling his head into her lap. Robb opened his eyes and clutched her shoulder, and she helped him rise unsteadily to his feet.

"Can I at least help my brother to the throne room?" she pleaded, placing his arm over her shoulders.

The first guard looked to the second and said "We can't deny the King's betrothed, can we?"

Sansa looked at Robb in surprise as he croaked out "If you do, she'll tell Joffrey that you denied her and he won't be pleased."

The second, seeming smarter than the first, said "Alright, but be quiet. And say nothing of this to the king."

Sansa nodded and said "Not a word shall cross my lips."

She pulled Robb's arm farther across her shoulders and followed the Lannister men out the door.

The walk seemed to take even longer than usual; Robb's shallow breathing puffing in her ear. He was in pain, from the sharp gasps he breathed out every time he stepped with took. Sansa glanced ahead of the Lannisters and whispered in his ear "Can you walk on your own?"  
Robb glanced up at her and gave a slight tilt of his chin down. "I can if I must." He breathed quietly.

She nodded and stopped talking as they reached the great double doors to the throne room. She glanced at Robb sideways and saw that he was getting paler as she watched.

The doors were thrown open, and almost no one was there but Cersei and Joffrey. He gave her a wormy smile and she suppressed a shiver.

Joffrey's eyes seemed to light up as he took in the weak, shaking form of her brother. The gleeful look made her heart burn with hatred and fear.

The Lannister guards shoved her aside, and they pushed Robb to his knees.

Joffrey stood from the Iron Throne and said "Mother, I want him executed. And someone give the wild dog a bath, he stinks."  
The Lannister guards in the room laughed, and Cersei smiled like a snake at Robb. Sansa said nothing, but hid further in the shadows.

Joffrey strode towards her brother and stood over him. Robb looked up at him with such hate and revulsion, Sansa could not even begin to understand.

"You tend to share the same conditions of your men in the field, to understand how they live. And unfortunately, real men don't bath that often in a war."

Joffrey turned up his nose and turned to a guard.

"Fetch me a sword. I want to cut off his head now."

Sansa rushed forward and said "Joffrey, you must not. The people want a public execution for my brother. They will take it as a sign of the King's just hand." She said.

Joffrey waved his hand and she didn't see the fist coming as it sailed into her stomach, her still bruised stomach from a week ago.

"You cannot tell the king what he must and must not do. I am the king, and I do as I want." He shouted at her in a shrill high voice that reminded her off Arya a few years ago.

Another fist came and she collapsed to the ground.

"ENOUGH!"

Robb was on his feet again, and beside her, when he got there, she did not know. He stood over her and helped her to her feet. Joffrey was red in the face, looking like a Lannister banner come to life. Robb looked her over and whispered "Are you okay?"

She nodded and Robb turned back to Joffrey.

Then, the two Lannister guards grabbed Robb by his arms, and pinned him to a wall. Joffrey's angry red vanished and he waved over one of the kingsguard.

"Beat him bloody Ser Trant."

Sansa swallowed a scream as Ser Trant approached her brother, driving the fist meant for her into his chest, making him double over and gasp for breath. The Lannister on his left pulled him up by his hair and Ser Trant punched him across the face. Robb spit blood on the floor and glared at Joffrey before Ser Trant sent another fist into his shoulder, where the quarrel had dug deep into his bone at the Red Wedding. He screamed then, and Sansa clasped her hands over her ears, shouting for him to stop, screams mingling with Robb's.

"Enough." Joffrey called, his voice high and his smirk prominent on his face. The Lannisters released Robb and he fell to his knees, curled around his shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheek and she barely heard Joffrey say "Take him to the sept. I will execute him now."

Sansa was dragged to her feet and pushed along, forced to attend as the King's betrothed. She dried her eyes and straightened her shoulders. Tyrion Lannister's plan might still work. And it was all she had to cling to now.

**I'm just dragging this on as long as possible until you people come knocking at my door demanding his rescue. Until next chapter that is. I can't prevent the inevitable now.**

**Will Robb die? Will Arya and the Brotherhood without Banners save him and Sansa, because really, the Hound is too drunk to carte. And what is Tyrion Lannister's part in all this? You won't find out until next chapter.**

**And the Tyrells have an important part to play in all this. SPOILER!**


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTE: phoenixflames12, thank you for the note about going from past to present tenses. I had not noticed that, so thanks for the pointer! Everyone else, keep the reviews coming (especially Phoenixflames12 and Marina Kai Fai- you guys rock)**

**EDWYN POV**

His time in King's Landing was time better spent somewhere else, in Edwyn's opinion. The place was full to brim with boot lickers and devious minds and too many plots and traitors to sleep comfortably at night. It reminded him of the Twins, his home with his siblings where he grew and learned and was taught the game of thrones. And he hated his home.

Pacing the room he had been gifted by the king, he sighed and glanced once more out the window. He was leaving tonight, he was going to skip the king's wedding in favor for the road home, which would feel solitary after the trip here with the king.

He sighed and glanced at his saddlebags. He was packed, he was armed with a new dagger and the pouch of coins for the king's head and his horse sat outside. He heard the roar of the crowd and flying rocks hitting the sept and the Lannister guards trying to escort the king and prisoner.

His resolve hardened him like valyrian steel and he picked up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He clasped the cloak at his throat, and stared once more around the room before he turned and left, closing the door with a soft thud.

**MARGAERY POV**

Margaery was often told she was beautiful. Her grandmother, her father, her brothers, and all her cousins insisted on it. But after Renly's mysterious death and Joffrey's refusal at betrothal, she wondered if her so called beauty was a curse.

She sighed and tried to calm her thoughts, to focus on the land around them. The Red Keep was a beautiful place, compensating for the lack of beauty in the rest of the city, the rat's nest that is was. She had to resist the urge to wrinkle her nose when she had come in behind her brother and her father with his army after defeating Stannis and whatever houses that had joined Stannis's side after Renly's death.

She remembered when Lady Catelyn had come to their camp to make Renly and Stannis join forces to defeat the Lannisters that had killed her husband and threatened her son.

"They are summer knights. They will not last through winter. And winter is coming." She had said. A cold shiver had run down her spine at the eerie words, the words of House Stark. They always puzzled her, those frosty northern lords. The Starks were more honorable than any other house in Westeros that Margaery had ever heard of.

She was startled from her thoughts by loud sobs and pleas. Margaery ducked behind a door and closed it half shut, so she could peer through to see.

Several Lannister men-at-arms were dragging a bruised, battered and bloody man between them, and the state of his wounds forcer Margaery to hold back a gasp. She knew the king to be heartless, but this man, no boy she corrected herself, couldn't even stand on his own feet. And he was dragging him around the castle.

Then she spotted the sobbing person.

Margaery didn't talk much to Sansa Stark, Joffrey's betrothed and prisoner. She was shy and quiet and always fearful of everyone around her. Now her face was streaked with tears and she was forced along behind Joffrey and the smug Queen Cersei. Then she realized who the injured boy was.

Joffrey had crowed to the whole court about how he was going to cut off Robb Stark's head and gift it to Sansa on their wedding tomorrow. The poor boy was a king, and she remembered what her brother had told her of the infamous tales of the Young Wolf.

_"He is said to have never been beaten in battle." Loras said as he drained the last of his tankard. "That he can never die. The man I talked to, some drunken squire said that he rides into battle on the back of a direwolf, and he changed into a direwolf himself when he wanted. Saw that massive monster rip a man's throat out in less than a heartbeat."_

_Her brother refilled the glass and took another mouthful._

_"But you don't care about those northern lords. You're my little sister, the Rose of Highgarden. Now get to bed before Father finds you out this late."_

The boy being dragged along to the headsman's block looked nothing like the massive, towering man that she had heard whispered about through the gardens and amongst the servants. He looked like a normal five and ten name day old boy, thought battle hardened and scarred. He had glanced up in her direction as they passed, and his cold blue eyes locked on her brown ones.

He seemed almost surprised to see her, hidden in the room. He glanced back at his sister, a desperate silent plea. Margaery couldn't deny a dying man his wish. She slipped out of the door and ran as fast as she could to Sansa'a side.

Placing her arm around her shoulder, she whispered "It will be alright."

Sansa nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes and glanced up at her. She hadn't spoken with Margaery much since she had been denied the betrothal, and Margaery was admittedly a little bitter at being turned down by a king. But this young girl needed a woman's touch, and from what Margaery had heard, her mother was dead, and the queen behind them was not the motherly sort. She looked Margaery over once and her face twisted to one of hatred, marring her beautiful face.

"Sh, it's alright." She soothed, stroking the fiery red hair, so opposite her quiet shy nature. Sansa looked at her and asked "what are you doing here?"

Margaery ignored the question and said "come on, we can't be left behind. The king would punish you later.'

Sansa nodded and stood straighter, and Margaery walked beside her. The king was ahead of the group, his nose in the air and a smirk gracing his features.

Soon they were outside the Red Keep, and the smallfolk gathered outside immediately turned in their direction and watched them with hollowed, empty eyes. The crowd parted as the king passed, not out of respect, but more for the sharp weapons ushering them back by the Lannister guards. One person, somewhere in the throng, threw a stone that struck Robb in the shoulder as they passed. The man shouted "You killed my brother!"

Robb turned to the direction of the thrown rock and locked eyes with a man of about four and thirty, with a grizzled beard and hard brown eyes.

"Your bastard king killed your brother." He said to the man, and another stone went flying. More stones, tomatoes and even some shoes followed. Only a few hit Robb, and more hit Joffrey, who ducked his head and ran along with the guard. Sansa gasped and Margaery pulled her along as they ran, amongst the shouts and demands of the small folk.

**SANSA POV**

Sansa barely ducked the tomato that came flying out of nowhere, splattering at her feet, and staining the hem of her dress with the rotten fruit.

She withheld a shriek from passing her lips and glanced up, hoping to catch whoever threw it. The writhing mass of people was almost like a many headed beast, and the shouts were ear shattering, mingling together to make a massive booming thrum in her head.

"GIVE US BREAD!" one shouted, Sansa barely able to discern the shouts from the rest of the noise.

"GIVE US SAFETY!" another shouted, chucking a stone at a Lannister man, who ducked and let it hit Robb.

"WHERE'S MY BROTHER!" a third shouted, pushing to the front and grabbing at her arm. She froze and the man pulled her closer. His rank breath washed over her, making her shake inside.

"Your brother will give me mine in return for you." He muttered in her ear, his overgrown beard tickling her cheek and making her skin crawl.

"Let her go." A guard commanded, wrenching his grip of her free and pushing her into the center of the street. Cersei Lannister eyed her dismissively, a superior look on her face. She turned back to her son and wiped the rotten tomato that hit his hair, cooing to him softly.

Sansa ignored the Queen Regent and turned back to Margery, who was avoiding tomatoes and rocks as best she could. She glanced at Sansa and smiled at her, a playful smile as if this all was some sort of game.

"You alright?" she asked her, wiping some tomato from her hair. Her voice was barely heard over the roar of the angry crowd.

"I'm fine." She half shouted, glancing ahead as the Great Sept of Baelor loomed overhead, the sun casting shadows miles wide over the city.

The Lannister guard pulled Robb up the steps, and the king stepped before them, sneering at the mob before they lobbed a tomato at his head, which splattered over his face. Sansa suppressed a giggle that bubbled to her chest. Joffrey wiped the tomato from his face and glowered at the offender, a woman wearing a dirty, and flour stained dress and an apron over top it.

Joffrey waved for the guard and he said, as loud and shrill over the crowd as possible "Send her to the dungeons. I'll cut off her finger later. Now, I have an execution."

Sansa as dragged back as her brother was forced to his knees on the block, and a soldier passed Joffrey the sword sheathed at his side. Margaery whispered soothing words in her ear, Sansa heard nothing. The world fell silent except for the soft whistle of the summer breeze that stirred the loose strands of her hair. She felt her throat screaming, but she could hear no noise. Margaery was pulling on her arm, restraining her from running forward. She felt stronger gloved hands on her upper arms, a Lannister guard, a distant part of her brain said.

Robb looked over at her, and she could see the fear he was trying to mask for her, the fear of the death that was held in Joffrey's weak girly hands. But he gave her a reassuring smile, and bowed his head.

Sansa screamed and wrenched herself free and saw Joffrey bring the sword up. She had to save him, she failed her father, she would NOT fail her brother. Not her brother…

Something, someone leapt up, and she spotted a flash of steel before a stream of red sprayed over her, covering her dress and mixing with her hair. The man, of red hair and with the red and blue of a Tully hidden under his cloak, forced Joffrey back and gave him a good size cut on his arm and across his cheek before the Lannisters reacted and surrounded Cersei and Joff.

Margaery stumbled back, and the red head man turned to her.

He bowed and said "Princess Stark. Come, we need to leave."

She ran to her brother's side, and helped him to his feet. Taking his one arm over her shoulder, between her and the red head man they carried him down the steps. More men, in ragged cloaks and quick blades, carved and forced a path to the gate through the crowd. She threw her jewels, the rings from her fingers and the necklaces and the fine net over her hair, into the crowd. The people scrabbled for the jewels, making it easier to carry Robb through. Sansa glanced back and saw the Lannisters surrounding Margaery, and Joff screaming for their death. Cersei Lannister watched them coldly, her green eyes burning like fire as she watched them run.

She ran for it, fast as her dress could allow her. The man laughed, a battle drunken laugh as he swept through the Lannister guards starting to flock the square, their golden cloaks fluttering behind them.

The man flashed a smile and said "I'm Rugor."

She nodded but said nothing in reply. Robb glanced up though, as if recognizing the name.  
"You were at Riverrun." He said weakly, and Rugor nodded.

"Queen Jeyne sent me to bring you home safe Your Grace, and you didn't make it easy." He said. Robb nodded and tried to take some of the weight of Sansa's shoulders. She ran quickly, feet slapping the cobblestone underfoot as they escaped to the gate. The wolves roamed outside, and Grey Wind howled and Robb seemed to slump with relief.

"Grey Wind." He said voice heavy with relief and exhaustion. Grey Wind circled them and Sansa glanced back. The group of men were slowly backing towards the gate, being pushed back by Lannisters and the small folk that were still clamoring for food.

They passed underneath the gate, and her heart soared under the clear blue sky. She was free, free from the city! She would never go back south. She would stay home in Winterfell, and she would never leave!

The air seemed to smell sweeter almost.

Then, more outcries and Sansa was jolted back to reality.

Rugor tugged on her arm and said "We have to get as far from here as possible. We have horses waiting nearby, come on."

The battle fever seemed to have subsided and Rugor was more reserved, serious almost. They ran along in silence, only the sound of echoing battle and the wind and grass under her feet. Robb's head lolled on her shoulder, and she felt horrible for her elder brother.

They stopped in a clearing, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. She had left her saddlebags in her rooms, and wore fine clothes unfit for running, and shoes that pinched her feet.

Rugor whistled, high and sharp, and almost from nowhere someone slunk from the shadows and pulling three horses by the reins and a massive direwolf at their side. Only one direwolf looked like that. Two of the horses had poles lashed to their sides, a cloth a man tall stretched between the poles in a crude litter.

Then Sansa recognized the wolf.

"Nymeria." She whispered. The person, short and ragged hair cut from a dagger, looked up with a familiar defiance.

"Arya!" she ran forward, enveloping her sister in a hug. Tears flowed free now, and for once she let them, sobbing and hugging her sister, who hugged her back just as tightly, and something wet where her face was pressed to her shoulder.

She asked "How, what? How did you escape? What are you doing here?"

Arya shrugged and said "they came for me back in the castle, and my dancing teacher fought them off as I ran. I'll tell you the rest later though."

She wrapped her arms around the wolf's neck, and Sansa felt the loss of Lady sharply in her heart.

She nodded and hugged her sister again.

"Joffrey said that you were dead. You were right about him, he's a prick and a jerk and a..."

"Two faced bastard?" Arya offered. Sansa felt her jaw drop at her sister's words, but Rugor laughed and said "that he is little princess."

Sansa turned back to the red head man and she said "Thank you."

Rugor bowed and said "You two are going ahead to the first house on your right. Your right, remember. You, and the king while I head back and get the rest of the Brotherhood out of the city."

He grabbed the reins of one horse and pulled it aside a bit, leaping on with a grace that Sansa envied.

"Get going, the Lannisters will catch up with you quick enough. Ride and don't look back." Rugor commanded, steering the horse back towards King's Landing and racing back, turning back and shouting "on your right!" before he vanished behind the trees.

Sansa glanced back at her sister, and with Arya's help and with a lot of effort from Robb, they helped him on the litter between their two horses and Sansa glanced uncertainly at her horse.

"He was the gentlest horse in the group, so he won't be much trouble." Arya said form the top of her own horse, and stuck her tongue out at her.

"unless your too scared."

Sansa ignored the jab and swung as best she could over the saddle, settling on the horse. Arya shook her head and said "come on, first house on the right."

They galloped as fast as they dared, and Robb thrashed on the litter. Arya glanced nervously from Robb to Sansa and hate filled her eyes.

"What did the prick do to him?" she asked.

Sansa flinched at the memory and said "He was whipped and beaten, and the fever has returned."

Arya glowered at something ahead of her and then Nymeria and Arya glanced back as one.

Arya said something under her breath and said "Riders. Lannister riders."

Sansa glanced back and saw the red and gold and a flash of naked steel waved from angry fists. Shouts drifted and the thundering hoof beats seemed to get louder every second.

"We can't lose them at this rate." Arya said, drawing a dagger from her sleeve. Sansa drew the one from hers and cursed that she never paid any attention to fighting like Arya did. They were alone, and without help.

Robb tossed back and forth as the riders gained steadily, over taking their slow and unsteady pace. Arya pushed the horses as fast as they could go, and Sansa got an idea.

"Pull Robb onto your saddle and cut the litter." She shouted to her over the angry Lannister men-at-arms.

Arya's eyes widened and she glanced from the Lannisters to Robb.

She nodded once and bouncing for the horses' pace, she grabbed Robb's arm and his eyes flew open.

"Robb, get on the horse." She commanded. Robb blinked and looked around with confusion. He looked up spotted the Lannisters behind them.

Grabbing Arya's arm, he crawled across the tarp and somehow, someway slung across the back of the horse and gripped the saddle.

Arya's knife flashed and the cloth fluttered from their horse, and Sansa sawed away at her side. It came loose and tarp flew behind them, catching in the lead man's face and making him and the rest of the party slow.

Sansa laughed and sped up, ignoring the pain in the thighs and raced alongside Arya as they left the Lannisters in the dust.

**I felt generous today, so long chapter. To my reviewers, a round of applause and a clap on the back. I wish there were more of you, but that's being greedy and selfish. But reviews do make me feel good.**

**Anyway, for Lilyzinha, on Chapter 6, the answer to that is that Grey Wind was guarding Robb in his room. In other stories I've read, its always been Grey Wind guarding Robb, so I thought a massive direwolf would be as good a guard as any. So that's for your questions. If you have a question, comment, or just want to be a hater, don't be shy!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire**

**ARYA POV**

It was several hours after setting out when Arya first smelt smoke.

It was barely there, and Arya thought she almost dreamed it. But then Nymeria glanced ahead alert and Grey Wind growled at something in the distance. Arya glanced ahead and saw the thin stream of smoke, dark grey in the blue sky.

"What is it?" Sansa asked, glancing and standing up, peering towards the smoke.

Arya stood and craned her neck, but she couldn't spot the source of the smoke in the distance.

"There's a fire somewhere ahead." She said, pointing at the smoke. She glanced at Robb on the ground and said "Come on, the Brotherhood will be waiting for us at the house on the right."

She untied the horses from where they stood waiting and with Sansa's help sat Robb in the saddle.

Almost minutes later, they found the source of the fire. The first house on the right was in flames, and shouts and screams pierced the afternoon air. The horses skittered and backed away nervously from the dancing orange flames that reached out with cherry red, burning fingers.

One man ran out the burning door, coals in his hair and his skin melting from his body. He screamed louder and taking a half melted dagger from his belt, he ran at them and screamed for help. Sansa screamed as the horses reared, knocking the man in the head and his skull caved in, and he crumpled to the ground dead.

Arya backed away from the burning house and shouted "Sansa, get back!"

Her sister needed no further encouragement, forcing the horse back and the horse obliged happily.

Arya spotted red and blue and desperately shouted "Rugor!"

She looked around, her eyes stinging from the heat and shouted again "Rugor!"

She thought she saw movement in the burning house and then the man burst from the fire, patting out fires in his long red hair. He looked up and shouted "Lannisters are here, they followed us. Run for Riverrun, get there! The armies are there, and don't trust the Freys." He shouted.

He ducked as the house finally collapsed under the heat, timbers groaning and the roof caving in, shaking and sending the walls flying in and a wave of heat and fire scorched Arya and the air dried in her lungs.

She gasped and choked for breath, gasping "We won't leave you!"

Rugor seemed to have heard, because he ran forward and said "The king's life is more important than mine. Get him to safety; you are the last of the Starks."

He hit her horse's backside and that sent the horse running, eating up ground under fast legs.

"Riverrun!" he shouted as a final warning, and they left the burning house behind.

Arya glanced back and saw Sansa keeping up with her horse, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She may be annoying and naïve, but she was still her sister, and she needed a pack.

**SANSA POV**

Of course, hours after finding each other when either thought the other dead, they had their first argument.

"It's smarter to go that way." Arya shouted at her, pointing to the wild forest around them. Sansa looked at it nervously. Any sort of wild things could be in there, and hungry enough to eat two little girls. Nymeria growled at Sansa, but Grey Wind sat observing the argument, his lip curling at Nymeria.

Sansa pointed at the road and said "We'll reach Riverrun faster if we take the Kingsroad. You're just a silly girl, what do you know?"

Arya's eyes narrowed and she said "I have been on my own for weeks, in the woods, and nothing tried to kill me or eat me. And this time we have Nymeria and Grey Wind with us, so they can hunt for us too."

Sansa sighed and said "Robb needs help quickly; we don't have time to go tromping through the woods for weeks and weeks. He could die out there."  
Grey Wind growled at the word died and circled Arya's horse, where Robb sat half-awake. He had fallen into the stupor hours ago, and it worried Sansa to no end. They had bandaged him best they could without their supplies, but there was little they could do.

Arya glanced back at him and said "It will be fine. I know my way around and we'll get to Riverrun faster than on any Kingsroad with Lannister armies tromping around looking for lost little Starks to hang over their gates. I thought you would have gotten smarter, but it seems you only got stupider in King's Landing."

Sansa glared at her sister and nearly jumped when Robb spoke, hoarse and strained "We'll stay in the forest to keep out of sight of travelers, but close enough to the Kingsroad that we can travel it when there's no one around."

Sansa looked to Arya and Grey Wind whined quietly, butting Robb's leg, but he said no more.

"Fine, we'll do it Robb's way." Arya muttered, steering her black horse towards the trees. Sansa nodded and followed her, and Grey Wind padded at her side.

They travelled in silence for a few minutes when Sansa finally admitted "We can't argue over every decision on the way to Riverrun. It won't help Robb and it won't help either of us. We have to learn to co-operate."

Arya said nothing for a moment, and both wolves and girl waited for her answer.

"It won't help Robb." Arya admitted "but next time, don't call me a silly little girl."

Sansa nodded and said "And I'm sorry for that. It was uncalled for, and mean."

Arya nodded and said "I'm sorry for calling you stupid then."

Nymeria nodded and they settled into a comfortable silence, listening to the howling of the wolves in the distance.

**MARGAERY POV**

"I want those Starks found and killed. All of them!" Joffrey cried out. His small council stood before him on the Iron Throne, and Cersei nodded and said "That is the most pressing matter Your Grace."

Tyrion snorted and said "A lone and injured boy on the road is no danger to us yet. And the Red Wedding destroyed most of his army, so even if he made it to Riverrun, he has no way of marching on King's Landing."

Joffrey stood and shouted "He has stolen my betrothed from this very castle. I want him found and executed!"

Joffrey turned on the Hound, who stood to his left and said "Hound, find them. Kill the Stark boy, but bring Sansa back. She must pay for her crimes of being a traitor before I kill her."

Margaery felt her eyes turn to her father, who's face hadn't spread into the wide smile she imagined, but his eyes glittered anyway.

"Your Grace, if I may." Mace Tyrell interrupted, stepping forward "If you execute your betrothed, then who shall be your queen to give you your heirs? I presented my daughter Margaery a few weeks ago and would be proud to present her again for your consideration."

Joffrey turned his eyes on her and it felt like worms crawling over her skin as his eyes lingered on her woman's chest and less on his face."

He gave a smirk and said "Yes, that would be well. Lady Margaery is my new betrothed."

Cersei Lannister looked less than pleased by this response, but she gave no sign in her smile and when she said "Wonderful choice Joffrey, better then that traitor Stark."

Joffrey stood and walked over to her, and Margaery was struck by how much shorter then he was, she was half a head taller. He bowed and planted a kiss on her face, and Margaery refrained from shuddering, giggling like hr grandmother told her.

Joffrey turned to his small council and said "The traitor Starks will be found. No go, I want you all out of here or I'll cut off a finger."

The council left quickly after that proclamation, except for his mother who turned to her and said "Lady Margaery, let us walk together."

They walked along side by side, the queen's red and gold dress billowed around her feet and Margaery's trailing in her wake.

"I hope you make a better betrothed then young Sansa Stark little rose." Cersei told her as they stepped into the garden. Margaery nodded and said "Nothing less could be expected."

Cersei nodded and turned to her, towering over her and her gold hair fell past her shoulders like sunshine and she hissed "If you try anything, anything at all, to get more power then you deserve little flower, well then, lions have sharp claws and a Lannister always pays his debts."

Margaery stood and told the queen "Roses are sweeter than lions, and roses have thorns to fight my lady."

She paraded past the queen and felt the cold of her eyes burning into her spine as she marched away. The words the queen had spoken angered her. Tyrells may be roses, but they didn't betray a promise once made. She clenched her fists and tried to calm herself. Cersei had the power to destroy her, not physically, but in the eyes of the people. She couldn't let her anger fog her mind like Cersei had let hatred fog hers. She was younger and pretty, and way smarter than any lion.

**RUGOR POV**

_Hours previous…_

Rugor urged his horse onward, and the wind snapped and tugged at his cape with invisible fingers. King's Landing came into view, a massive city that Rugor could smell even from here. The clanging of swords could also be heard, along with the faint, distant roar of the mobbing smallfolk.

Drawing his sword again, he charged into the city on horseback, swinging his sword and striking down three Lannisters in one stroke.

Thoros of Myr was difficult to spot, red in a sea of red and gold. But his bald head shone brightly like a beacon in the writhing mass, and Rugor fought to his side.

"The Starks are on their way and taken care of." He shouted, his horse rearing and a man's skull caved under the hooves.

Thoros nodded and said "Lady Stoneheart was escorted from the battle by Tom and a few others. They are on the first house on the right of the Kingsroad. Find them, and the Starks. We cannot lose them now that they are found."

Rugor nodded and said "Well come on then. The rest of the Brotherhood is outside the gate, holding it for us. We have to leave."

Without another word, Thoros leapt into the air and landing behind him on horse, and Rugor was frozen for half a second before a sword fell and his thigh exploded with pain. He removed the man's head from his shoulders and his horse was running, heading towards the gate. The Brotherhood was forcing it closed, fighting for every inch that they took. It was only a couple inches taller than them on horseback, and Rugor bent down and nudged the horse on faster.

They flew through the gate as the Brotherhood lost their grip, and the door flew down with a clang. They whooped and cheered, calling out rude things and making gestures that caused more threats and shouts.

Rugor glanced down at his leg and his stomach rolled. The wound was deep, to the bone. His horse shied away from the loud noises and Rugor shouted over the clamor "Come on, there's nothing for us here. Let's go before they open the gates and send us running."

Thoros nodded and eventually, the Brotherhood without Banners had retrieved their stashed horses and thundering down the road.

They spotted several Lannister search parties along the way, and Rugor couldn't help but worry about the Stark girls. If they ran into even one of the search parties, Rugor didn't dwell on these thoughts.

They reached the safe house near sunset, and Rugor dismounted and unsaddled his horse. The Brotherhood followed, and he entered the cold dark house.

"Hello?" he called out loudly, but there was no answer. The other party with Lady Stoneheart should have been here, and the Starks as well. Then he saw a spark in the corner as the rest of the men entered.

"Run!" he shouted, bolting for the door. Everyone stared at him confused, but the Lannister man smiled grimly and struck the flames, the oil coating the house catching easily and the house was an inferno.

Men screamed and the horses reared and screamed outside as well, and Rugor dove for the ground and the door. The flames rolled over his back and his skin burnt like hellfire.

He didn't scream, but crawled towards the door. One of the less fortunate men ran screaming and burning, waving his arms in the air as flames danced across his skin. He bolted through the door and Rugor stumbled to his feet to follow.

He ran through the door as another heat wave rolled off the burned out husk of a house, the dancing flames flickering and reaching for anything else to consume. Rugor looked ahead and was surprised to see the Stark girls on horseback, uninjured and unburnt.

The ground rumbled underfoot, and Rugor looked to the girls.

"Lannisters are here, they followed us. Run for Riverrun, get there! The armies are there, and don't trust the Freys." He shouted.

He ducked as the house finally collapsed under the heat, timbers groaning and the roof caving in, shaking and sending the walls flying in and a wave of heat and fire scorched

Arya choked and gasped for breath, managing to shout "We won't leave you!"

Rugor crawled to his feet where the inferno knocked him down and ran to their horses.

"The king's life is more important than mine. Get him to safety; you're the last of the Starks."

Arya set her jaw and opened her mouth to argue, but he smacked the horse and sent it running off away from the house, Sansa pelting after her. Rugor sighed and said "Go."

**In honor of my most esteemed reviewers and the whole lot of you other guys who have also read this story, I offer my most sincere gratitude that you took time out of your busy schedule to read this crap and write something nice about it (for the most part) and being the most loyal of followers. I hope you all enjoy this story as it takes an unexpected turn. **

**Alright, new summary.**

**_The Starks are alone, forced to make their own way to Riverrun and safety. But with Lannister forces after them, and Robb injured and dying, they'll need all their wits about them in this epic race across the seven kingdoms. But what about the others? Where did Lady Stoneheart go? What about Robb's army in Riverrun? Where's Stannis and the Red Woman in all this? Who will rule the seven kingdoms?_**

**Sounds totally epic, so I love it. This ain't the end, oh no, heavens no. this is too awesome to cut off at the neck. But you have the suspense.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Dear Patrick. I hope that you feel grateful; I have gifted you with three chapters in the past few days.**

**I have taken your request to heart.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire **

**SANSA POV**

Sansa couldn't sleep.

The fire Arya had built was starting to die out, the embers glowing white hot amongst the branches. The night sky above her was wide and black, dotted with millions upon millions of stars. Sansa could pick out the ones she was taught when she was little, but finding them in the endless black night sky did nothing to help her sleep.

Arya herself was curled up around Nymeria, her soft snores lost in the direwolf's thick fur. Grey Wind was curled around Robb, and scanned the small clearing they found for any hint of danger, snarling lowly at any animal that dared to tread on the grass inside the clearing.

Lady would have comforted her, in the vast, wild expanse of forest. This was far from what Sansa was used to and adapted to in King's Landing. She always had a warm bed and enough food and a roof over her head. The dangerous thing had been the people she shared the roof with. Now it was the opposite. She could trust no one better than Robb and Arya, but the forest was the danger.

Sansa couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips, or the dreadful feeling of loneliness that pressed around her like a heavy, oppressing cloak wrapping around her tightly, weighing heavily on her heart.

Grey Wind watched her with his yellow eyes, and he crawled over to her, not leaving Robb's sleeping side and nudged her hand gently.

She smiled at the direwolf and patted his head. Grey Wind licked her open hand and turned back to his friend, who was slumped over, sleeping sitting up. She understood what he wanted.

She crawled over to his side and with Grey Wind bearing his weight, which was surprisingly and worryingly light; she helped him lie down in a more comfortable position.

As she sat back in her previous spot, she remembered what the maester had implied and what she herself had stated in a bluntness that had surprised her.

_"He has been ill with fever this whole time, weeks now. His body is too weak to fight the infection of the wounds now, and the fever is still in his body." Pycelle said._

_The Hound glanced at her and she felt the color drain from her face. She had learned from Maester Luwin what happened when the body was too weak to fight infection and fever._

_"He will die." She whispered._

Her words, spoken with a cold, unfeeling voice different from her own, whispered in her head, spinning and engraving into her brain.

_He will die…he will die… he will die…_

Those words chilled her to the bone, a coldness worse than couldn't be warmed by anything except the truth that Robb would live, and get strong enough to wrap his arms around her and hug her and dance with her and swing her around in circles. Arya would laugh and they would go back to Winterfell and rebuild their lives, and Sansa would never marry Joffrey.

Then Robb had shifted and opened his eyes, glancing around almost in fear. Grey Wind was beside him in moments, and Robb leaned on the massive grey direwolf.

"Sansa?" he asked, and a small smile spread across his face. "Where are we?"

Sansa shrugged and said "Arya said we're past Rosby, but she paid more attention to maps then I did. Do you know where that is?"

He nodded and grunted as he sat straighter, his left hand flying to his chest where Sansa knew was an unhealed quarrel wound from a few weeks ago.

"Are you alright?" she whispered to him, crawling to his side and placing her hand on his forehead.

Robb nodded and said "Just so tired and sore. But I'll survive."

_He'll die…he'll die…he'll die…_

"Of course you will." She told him, and with less force then she expected she lay him down on the ground, avoiding pressure wherever she thought wounds festered.

"But you won't get better unless you get rest." She told him, and another smile flickered across his face.

Then his face fell and said "Everything's my fault."

She frowned and said "No Robb, it isn't. You did nothing wrong Robb, why?"

"If I never married Jeyne, the Freys would still be fighting for us, rather than with Lannisters. I sent Mother to her grave, did Joffrey tell you that?" Tears pricked in his eyes and he looked so anguished that she felt tears of her own in her eyes.

"It was not your fault. It was not on your word that the Freys shot down your men. It was not your hand that killed our mother."

Robb shook his head and said "I saw it happen. It follows me, her eyes, her screams, and her blood in my hands. I did it; I might as well have held the dagger."

She shushed him as his body wracked with sobs, and she felt her heart shatter. Her brother, her poor brother.

Her own cheeks were streaked with tears, falling into her lap as she held her brother. She saw Arya wake slowly, and crawl over to their brother. She looked absolutely torn, unsure what to do.

The sobs died away and his shoulders stilled but his breathing was still irregular and sharp.

"Robb, you did nothing wrong that would warrant the Freys to kill mother. You've made mistakes, but you're fifteen. What boy doesn't make mistakes? I made a mistake in loving Joffrey when he was a monster, and Walder Frey made a mistake when he thought that the Starks are so easily finished." She told him.

Arya looked up at her with such hatred in her eyes and she said to Robb "You still breathe and when you're strong enough, you will swing the sword that will end Walder Frey's life, and every other Frey in that hall. The north remembers Robb, and winter is coming."

Her voice was so dark, so full of hatred and coldness that Sansa glanced at her sister. She knew her sister could hold a grudge, and she could be mean and angry. She never knew she could be so hateful, and it made her shiver.

She stroked his hair like mother did to her when she was little to comfort her. Robb was ill and shaking and fevered and in need of rest desperately.

His shaking breaths slowed after a minute and his eyes closed, and Grey Wind lay down at his master's side, and his eyes closed until his breathing matched Robb's.

Arya looked shaken, and looked at Sansa.

"I've never seen him like that before." She whispered, and Nymeria nodded in agreement.

Sansa pulled her hand away from her brother's head and said "He wouldn't want anyone to see him like that. Now go to sleep, we have a long day."

Arya grumbled, but she lay back down and soon her soft breathing joined Robb's.

Sansa poked the fire with a branch and watched the flames. She would not watch. She would mourn her mother and keep her vigil for her parents.

She sat and waited…

**EDWYN POV  
**The road back to the Twins seemed longer then when there was a band of men and death racing after him day and night.

He trotted easily down the road, steering is horse through towns and staying at whatever inns came in sight. He had been travelling for three days, and his backside was throbbing with soreness and blisters from the days of constant travel.

He now paced himself, winding through trees and past travelers with distrustful eyes and passed without saying a word of greeting.

Edwyn said nothing to encourage conversation, merely rode past in silence, quiet and pretending that the person didn't exist.

Now, the sun was slowly sinking down beyond the hills, setting the world in a golden glow, like the world was made of gold.

The silence was almost deafening, pressing on his ears, making him long for a companion, even if it was the Stark king that tried to kill him once, or even his obnoxious brothers whose bodies probably lay rotting somewhere ahead, looted of their belongings and eaten by animals.

His head whipped around as he heard the snap of a twig, and urged his horse forward at the sight of yellow eyes glowing in the dusk light.

The horse reared back, eyes white with fear, throwing Edwyn to the ground as it bolted ahead, disappearing in the cloud of dust that rose under pawing hooves.

He scrambled to his feet and felt his breeches get uncomfortably wet in the front as the biggest wolf he had ever seen slinked from the underbrush, snarling and snapping at him, pearly white fangs bared.

He pulled out the dagger and said "Stay back."

The wolf stalked forward, circling him slowly like a Dornish vulture. He clawed at the ground, and lifted his head to howl.

"What's Grey Wind found now?" he heard a feminine voice say from somewhere behind him.

"Help!" he shouted, waving the knife at the wolf.

Two horses ran up from down the road, two young girls, one with red hair and one with brown. Another grey wolf padded at the younger, dark haired girl's side.

His cries of help died in his throat, and he felt a cold thought settle in his mind.

The last inn he stayed at said the Starks had escaped their trial. And that they had direwolves with them.

By the Father, the gods hated him.

"Grey Wind, here." He heard a hoarse voice say, and the grey wolf circling him padded off to the red head girl's side. Behind her, stooped with exhaustion and pain and with the same dark red hair and blue eyes as before, Robb Stark glowered at him with heavy lidded eyes and said "Edwyn Frey. I thought you would have remained in the capital to watch my execution."

The red head girl stiffened at his surname, and the dark haired girl growled along with the two wolves.

Robb dismounted, and the air of authority hung around him like a cloak, even dead on his feet. The larger grey wolf at his side snarled at him, and Robb placed a hand on his head.

"I should let Grey Wind attack and rip your throat out." Robb said darkly, and the wolf edged closer.

"Please Your Grace, spare my life." Edwyn pleaded, falling to his knees. Robb looked at him darkly, until one of the girls said "We should take him prisoner."

The dark haired girl turned on the red head and demanded "What? He's a Frey, he deserves a death sentence."

Robb was silent, and the dark haired girl said "Nymeria."

The smaller wolf launched forward, flying for his throat. He closed his eyes and waited for the sure death carried on the fangs and claws of the direwolf.

Waiting for a moment, he opened his eyes and saw the larger wolf standing in front of him, keeping the smaller one away.

"We'll take him to Riverrun. After all, kidnapping is a crime." Robb said.

They tied him to his saddle with rope in his saddlebags, and tied a blindfold around his eyes, rather too tight if Edwyn could say anything. He made no sound of complaint, only breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't set the massive direwolves on him to eat him and tear him limb from limb. Besides, it was a long distance from here to Riverrun, and he could wait just as patiently as the king in the north.

**MEANWHILE, A FEW MILES AWAY…**

In times like these, Ghare thought, it was always good to be wary of strangers. And nothing was stranger then the black cloaked man with the massive battle horse.

He had come in a few minutes ago, and every wary eye had turned to him and the sword that was bared at his side, and Ghare saw rusted blood dotting the otherwise immaculate blade.

Ghare, being the stable master, went forward and said "What do be wanting?"

The cloaked man said nothing, jumping down from his saddle and pulling back his hood.

The horrendous scars that embedded in half his face made him cringe back, and the man said gruffly "By order of the crown, I'm looking for two people. Brother and sister, with red hair and blue eyes."

He held up the picture, and Ghare felt his eyes go wide and the amount of money placed on the boys head.

"What did the boy do?" he couldn't help but ask.

The man, his name unknown, said "He found an army and took the sister. King Joffrey wants him back."

Ghare nodded and said "Well, we haven't seen their like around here. Move on, we don't want any of you Lannisters here."

The scarred man's hand went to the hilt of his blade and said "You'll let me stay a while, won't you."

Ghare nodded and reached for the reins of the horse, but he pulled his hand back in time as the horse bit down on air where his hand was seconds earlier.

"I'll deal with my horse, or he'll take your hand off. Tell the inn keep to ready me a room. I'll be staying the night."

He dragged his horse along towards where the stables were, and Ghare saw a flash of yellow, and three brown dogs racing across the yellow field. Suddenly he felt fear grow in his heart like the thorns in his sister's garden.

"You're the Hound." He said in a half whisper.

The man turned back on him and strode back before Ghare could realize what had happened.

The cold steel bit into his neck, drawing a pinprick of blood that dripped down his collar and into his shirt.

"I will kill you if you say that name again." He said in a low undertone, and Ghare understood the message.

"Of course my lord, I won't let it cross my lips again." He said, and he cringed at the wobble in his voice as another thread of blood trailed after the first.

Then the dagger was gone and the Hound was astride his horse, heading towards the stables again.

This time, he was smart enough not to say a word.

**I struggled a bit with this chapter, kind of had to force it along at some points, so if it isn't up to scratch, you know why.**

**PARTICK, the reviewer who requested another chapter, please review all these chapters or the consequences will be dire indeed.  
Love the reviewers and readers and anyone who wasted however long reading my story. For the followers, my thanks, for the favoriters, wish there were more, but the ones who did are awesome. And the reviewers, you hold my favor. And for Christmas I gift you five spoilers for the days until Christmas in my part of the world.**

**Greywater watch will appear.**

**The twins will also come into play**

**Two epic chase scenes**

**Jon Snow **

**Joffrey and Margaery's epic wedding.**

**Enjoy.**


	19. Chapter 19

**So...none of the spoilers are in here (sorry) but they are for sure next chapter.**

**Dear Patrick: your review made me actually get working on the chapter. I admit, I was lazy then, but I finished and uploaded a lot of chapters. You weren't impatient, I was just slow.  
As for your reviews, thank you to all of you, those I don't mention, those I do and those that haven't reviewed yet. There's no time like the present.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire. **

_The calm of the forest was soothing. Cool breezes, the scent of wildflowers, and clear skies above. He strolled through the forest, his heart and mind for the first time in a while, at peace._

_Suddenly, the thick taste of blood hung in his nose, rust and salt and bitter things. He followed the scent to a clearing, shadows ringing and hiding amongst the trees. A wolf, a large grey direwolf, lay bleeding on his side, a low keening noise as the blood dripped down his fur and onto the yellowed grass._

_Two wolves were with him, one she wolf sat at his side, another paced around the clearing, snarling at shadows and clawing at the earth beneath her paws._

_He watched as four lions pad out from the shadows, one lioness and three males._

_The standing she wolf was backed closer and closer towards the laying wolf, and the sitting she wolf was licking fruitlessly at the other wolf's wounds. The youngest lion leapt over the she wolf and his paw flew back, ready to strike._

_There was a flash of black lizard skin and red blood soaked his vision…_

Jojen shot awake, looking around. He thought at first that the wolf was Bran, and that he was in danger. He looked around, but Bran was still sleeping, Meera awake and watching him.

"Another green dream?" she asked.

Jojen nodded and said "His brother's in terrible danger."

**RUGOR POV**

He leaned against a tree and heaved in gasps of air. His leg stung where he had been slashed by a sword a day ago, and his sides were burning from walking so far.

The sun had set long ago, leaving him alone in darkness with no horse, no weapon at his side, and with no supplies to stop the bleeding or eat.

He had come far, he thought, but no one offered him a ride. He had passed several farms, but he didn't want to steal one of their old slow horses. They would die before he could get half way to Riverrun.

He felt his eyes slipping closed. Sleep would be a relief, but he would be dead before dawn and his boots stolen if he did. He heaved himself to his feet and continued walking, and began humming the song his mother sang to him when he was little.

He walked all night and well into morning until he reached a town, a rather large town with armed men and wary eyes that probably saved them from being attacked and pillaged by armies and bandits alike.

He walked over to the first man he saw, with dark brown hair and blue eyes and a clean shaven face.

"Excuse me, but where is the inn around here?" he asked.

The man looked him over, and spotting the red and blue Tully trout on his chest, he said "We have no room for an army."

He waved his hand and said "No army, just me. I'm looking for a place to stay, I have gold."

Surprisingly, when he reached in his pocket, he pulled out a single gold dragon, with a king's likeness stamped on the other side.

The man's eyes had grown wide and he stared at the coin for a moment before saying "I'll escort you there my lord."

Rugor shook his head and said "I'm no lord. I'm Rugor."  
The man nodded and said "I'm Ghare."

Ghare led him to the largest building in town, and said "My friend Lus is the innkeeper. Tell him I sent you along."

Rugor nodded and said "thanks."

He walked in and looked around. A grizzled man was wiping a counter with a rag and another man in a black cloak sat nursing a tankard in his hand.

He walked over to the man and asked "Are you Lus?"

The grizzled man nodded and said "Who are you?"

Rugor sat and said "Rugor. Ghare sent me."

Lus sighed and said "Ghare's finding all my business these days." Gesturing with his thumb to the silent man.

Rugor took a seat and laid down the golden dragon. Lus stared at the coin and back at Rugor.

"You some kind of lord or something?" he demanded as he picked up the rag and proceeded wiping.

"No, just looking for my brother and sisters. A boy and two girls, have you seen them around?" he asked, the lie coming easily to the tongue.

Lus nudged his head in the black cloaked man's direction and said "This man's a stranger in town too, came in yesterday. Ask him, his name is Sandor, he said."

The room became freezing cold in that moment. Sandor, Sandor Clegane, the king's faithful Hound. Not twenty paces from him.

He got up as casually as he could and left the dragon on the counter.

"Alright, I'll take you up on your advice." He told Lus, and he turned to the Hound's table in the half shadow of the inn.

He wore his blade on his hip, wore a nasty expression as he downed the tankard and waved Lus over, who refilled his drink.

He walked forward and sat at his table, close enough to not seem rude, but far enough to avoid a swing from his sword.

"I'm looking for my siblings, a brother and two sister." He pulled his cloak tighter around him, singed from fire and dirty from travel, and hid the Tully trout underneath.

The Hound didn't look up and said "What's a fish doing this close to a lion's den? Aren't you all supposed to be under siege in your little river village."

Rugor inched back and said "I thought hounds only left their master's side when they've been beaten. Did the little bastard king send you out to do his dirty work?"

The hound set down his tankard and said "I'm not eager to start the day on a bad note, but if you insist on it river bastard."

He shoved the table, and Rugor was pinned underneath the heavy oak, arms pinned to his sides. The Hound circled and drew his sword.

"Hey, no killing in my inn." Lus shouted at the Hound, but he was silenced with a glare.

"Shut up you old man, or I'll remove your shriveled cock from between your legs." The Hound said, aiming the point above Rugor.

He struggled and found the tankard with the wrought iron edging. He threw it and it hit the Hound in the eye, and it sent him into a stream of vulgar curses.

Rugor shook his arm free and shoved the table aside; ducking behind it as the sword came swinging down. He was unarmed, against one of the arguable most dangerous men in the seven kingdoms. He broke off a chair leg and met the next sword stroke, snapping the chair leg in half like a flimsy branch.

Rugor knew that he wouldn't win. He felt his pride and dignity hit the dirt as he turned and ran for the door, and felt the sword tip just scrape over his tender burns.

He shouted a string of filthy words, but kept running, bolting for the stables and vaulting onto one of the horses.

It reared, the brown horse, but let him grab the reins and kick aside the man who had just finished saddling him. He flicked the reins and flew out of the stables, barely dodging a woman walking by and heading for the exit to town.

He paid no mind to the people as he fled, the brown horse flying down the path to the Kingsroad.

**MARGAERY POV**

She stood on the stool and winced as a pin was jabbed into her side. The seamstress mumbled an apology, her mouth filled with pins.

She glanced down at her wedding dress in the making. Golden roses and lions entwined around her bodice, and pearls glittered on the skirt and Myrish lace was stitched at her waist.

"You look amazing." Her brother Loras said, smiling at her from his seat. Her grandmother insisted on one of her brothers being with her at all times, except at night. She didn't trust the king, and with good reason. Sansa had only told her a little bit of what he had done to her, but the bruises and fear in her eyes spoke more then what she said.

"Thank you dear brother." She said, smiling at him as he stood up.

The young seamstress didn't pay him any more mind than a chair in the room, and it surprised her considering almost every young lady in the realm was in love with the Knight of Flowers.

"My lady would you like to see for yourself?" she asked, taking the pins from her mouth. She had a sweet face, but a hard look to it, and long black hair and lightning blue eyes. She half thought that it was one of Robert Baratheon's many bastards, but she spoke not a word about it. The girl was only thirteen, and Cersei would probably kill her if she even suspected something.

The girl helped her step down and held the looking glass in front of her.

She didn't recognize the woman in the reflection. She wore an elegant almost white green dress with white Myrish lace over the skirt, pearls dotting it like dewdrops on rose petals. Gold lions roared proudly, and golden roses were embroidered in along her sleeves and decorated her bodice. Her hair was let down in soft brown waves, a golden tiara placed on her brow.

"Oh my." She whispered, tugging on the silver rose on a chain around her neck. The girl smiled and said "Are you pleased? I tried to work as fast as I could, and the queen requested lions, but you're a Tyrell, so I thought some roses"

Margaery held up her hand and said "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn. Thank you…"

"Elis." The girl said, smiling.

Margaery nodded and spun around, the skirt fanning around her, but not too high.

Margaery smoothed the skirts and said "Who do you work for here?"

Elis sat down and said "I take a job when I get one, but I don't work for anyone."

Margaery smiled and said "I would like you to be my seamstress, and to sew all my dresses. If you require help, I can hire some ladies to assist you, but."

"Oh my lady, thank you." Elis smiled and said "Come, I'll help you out of the gown. The king requested your presence downstairs as soon as possible."

After changing into a dark green gown, Margery went down to the Throne Room, where Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, attempting to look tall and proud.

"My king." She said, curtsying to him. Joffrey smirked and said "Lady Tyrell. Our wedding is tomorrow, I hope you are pleased."

Margaery nodded and said "Oh my king, you have been good to me. It is surprising that the wedding is so soon."

Joffrey toyed with a blade on the armrest of the Iron Throne and said "If you are so loyal, why were you first wed to my uncle Renly?"

Margaery felt the smile that had been on her face fade a little and she said "I was given to Renly; I did not choose to marry him. My father wed us, but Renly did not bed me. I"

"Just be quiet." Joffrey said. He waved his hand and a Kingsguard knight stepped out.

He raised a fist as he walked towards her, and Margaery remembered everything that Sansa had told her about Joffrey.

"You will be punished for not siding with the crown in the first place, and wedding a traitor." Joffrey said, the sickest grin spreading across her face.

Ser Trant, Margaery remembered, stepped over and drove his fist into her gut, making her fall to the ground.

"My family will withdraw our armies, you must stop." She said.

Ser Trant aimed for her face when Joffrey said "Leave her face."

Margaery thought he would stop the beating, and she prepared praise in her mind from what her septa taught her.

Her hopes died as Joffrey smirked and said "I like her pretty."

**GREY WIND POV**

Night fell quickly, the moon rising quickly across the sky, rising from behind several hills and forests in the distance.

He padded along at his companion's side, and his companion's litter mate. He felt his paws dragging in the dirt, and he felt the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He would not sleep tonight.

His sister glanced back from where she walked beside her companion, the littler litter mate. The weasel man was tied to his horse, and trotting between them behind and his sister ahead.

"We stop here for the night." his companion croaked, and dismounted clumsily. The smaller human nodded and pulled the weasel man down, sitting him on the ground.

His companion patted his head, for the first time in hours. He nudged his side gently and helped him to the other horse to help the older human down.

The fire hair girl, the one who was his lost sister's companion, nodded her thanks and helped him to lie down on the ground. He curled up at his feet and he heard him say "No fires, too easily seen here."

They nodded and they set up watch, the younger girl arguing with the elder in soft voices as he watched his companion fall asleep. He laid his head on his paws and watched the humans fall asleep one by one, Nymeria close to her companion's side.

He awoke when the scent of fear tickled his nose, making his nose twitch and his eyes open slowly. The weasel man was drawing a dagger, his hands freed and placing the tip over his companion's heart.

He growled and launched forward, felt the cold steel bite into his side, but felt no blood flow. He landed squarely on the weasel man, and growled in his face. His face changed to one of horror and fear, and he growled more menacingly. How dare he try to kill his companion, like the man in the stone river den and the boy in the stone forest? How dare he try to harm the one he protected? He was a direwolf, and he would kill this weasel man and tear his throat.

He heard the little human whistle for him, but his fear smell was too strong, his body shuddering with the need to protect his companion.

"Grey Wind, here." He heard his companion whisper. He growled, and trotted back to his side, leaving a good size cut in his arm with his sharp claws.

His companion was uninjured, the dagger just grazing his side through his thin weird fur. He patted his head and ruffled the fur around his neck.

"Good job Grey Wind." He said, and Grey Wind licked his hand. He hadn't failed, his companion still breathed.

He heard the weasel man move behind him and he turned, growling loudly enough to make him freeze his moving.

"Guard him Nymeria." He heard the smaller girl say. His sister padded over and snarled at the weasel man, and Grey Wind sat at his companion's side.

"I'm fine, he missed." He heard him argue with the fire hair girl. She fussed and looked him over, and Grey Wind let her. If his companion was injured, she would take care of him.

He padded back over to the weasel man and turned to his sister. She nodded at him once and glanced back at her companion, who had picked up the dagger that the weasel man tried to kill his companion with. She shouted at him and the fire hair girl said "We should tie him to the tree."

He butted the weasel man's leg and backed him towards the tree, where the smaller girl tied him tightly.

"Knock him out for the night." he heard Robb say, and with the hilt of the dagger, the smaller girl smashed it into the back of his head, and he slumped against the rope.

Grey Wind sniffed him over once, to make sure he was sleeping, when he returned to his companion's side and curled next to him, eyes alert for anything that could harm their little pack.

It was his pack, and he and his companion were the leaders. And leaders always protected their packs.

**Alright, I gift you with none of the awesome spoilers from last time, but don't feel bad. Well, Rugor is on his way, the Hound in hot pursuit, and Joffrey made a very big mistake.**

**What a surprise.**

**Well, wedding is for sure next chapter.**

**Oh, if the ending of Grey Wind's POV was a bit forced, sorry. I won't update for a couple of days, it's Christmas soon, so I have valid excuses. Consider this your Christmas present.**

**Merry X-mas.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning. My file with the original chapter for this got corrupted. This is a redo, and will probably be worse then the first one by a long shot. So excuse lameness.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire.**

**Also, we are a few days after the last chapter, nearing the God's Eye.**

**ROBB POV**

It became harder and harder to ignore the pain as every hour passed.

It felt like a hot iron being driven into his shoulder, digging itself deeper into his body with every movement he made, every step the horse took, every time he climbed of the horse to rest. But he forced himself to ignore the pain and continued to ride.

Sansa grew more anxious with every day, glancing back more often at him from the horse she and Arya shared. He smiled at her when he could, a reassuring smile. But he had a feeling it felt more like a grimace.

They went along the east of the God's Eye, staying close to the Kingsroad and keeping far from any travelers that Grey Wind or Nymeria caught scent of. They kept out of sight, and therefore, away from curious eyes and tongues easily loosened with gold.

They traveled day after day, until the days started to blend together. The lake was always to the west, crystal blue waters shining and the sound of rippling water deafening in the silence. He could spot the small green blur that was the Isle of Faces, sitting in the middle of the lake. To their east was the Kingsroad, and north Harrenhal grew larger and greater every day.

It was held by Bolton men, and the name made his teeth grind together and his hands itch to swing a sword through his neck. Roose Bolton betrayed the north, and probably held Winterfell since Theon was rooted out and likely killed. Roose Bolton and his bastard heir, Ramsay if he was right. The thought of the flayed man banner flapping over Winterfell, ruled by Boltons, made his skin crawl. He was a betrayer, an oath breaker and worked with the Freys to kill him. He would make them pay justice for their crimes, he would remove Lord Bolton's head himself.

He was drawn from his thoughts of vengeance and hatred when his horse stopped, and Harrenhal loomed overhead.

"Roose Bolton holds this castle." Robb said, bringing his horse to stand beside Sansa and Arya. "He would not hesitate to take my head and yours with me. We'll wait till nightfall to sneak around."

Sansa nodded, and Arya dismounted, Nymeria padding after her. Grey Wind was absent, hunting somewhere far off for prey. Nymeria dropped the bloodied rabbit on the ground, and Arya brought out her dagger.

Sansa averted her eyes as Arya skinned the rabbit. Robb turned to Edwyn Frey, tied to his horse and blindfolded. He dismounted himself and Robb undid the blindfold.

"Sansa, can you refill the water skins." Robb said. She nodded and grabbed the skin from their saddle bags, previously Edwyn's, and approached the lake, setting about her task. Nymeria wandered from her mistress's side and lay on the ground, watching Edwyn with cold, unyielding eyes.

Robb hunted down some branches, using stones and his hands to break firewood, the dry wood cracking under his hands. He had little strength for the task, but the wood broke easily under his fingers, and required less effort then he had first thought.

Soon, a small fire glowed, merely glowing embers and little smoke. It was enough to warm them and to chase the winter chill from the air as night set in, colder and bitter. Robb watched the flames dance, and he felt himself slip away...

_He was running through forest, men on horseback ahead of him. They were laughing and talking, paying no heed to the fear of their horses as his scent was carried on the wind. He stalked closer, crouching low amongst the brush and saw the flayed man on one man's chest. The hatred came easily, at this man, and he pounced from his position, his claws digging into the man's jerkin, forcing the man to the ground and toppling the horse as he became unbalanced. He tore his throat out in one swift move, his teeth crunching bone. Horses reared and men shouted for weapons. The steel needles they carried, like claws still sat on their hips, no threat until they glinted in moonlight. He snarled at one man, and his fear scent nearly masked the smell of his shit._

_With a growl, he stalked forward and attacked, the flayed man on one's chest tearing under his sharp claws, red blood flowing like a river and the men's' screams lasting seconds before they were silenced quickly. Soon, he was surrounded by the bodies of the four fallen men. Their blank eyes seemed to follow him as he turned his back and left, leaving their bodies for the ravens and crows that already circled overhead, drawn by the smell of death and decaying meat..._

And he was in front of the fire again, watching the coals burn out and die, his sisters curled up sleeping. Robb blinked and struggled to regain his bearings, half standing before the jolt of pain brought with it recognition of where he was.

Edwyn watched him, half amused, and he leaned back on the ground, his bound wrists loosened slightly for the night. After the first night, he had made no moves to harm him or his sisters, or to escape from his captivity. The direwolves guarded him day and night, changing shifts like a regular guard as the other hunted or traveled alongside their companion.

Robb didn't rest as he watched the moon rise higher in the sky, dappling the ground in silvery light and making the world around him seem like a different place, somewhere unfamiliar and vast and alien in nature. He didn't recognize the world as it shifted from day to night, golden to silver, light to dark. The fire died and left him without warmth. A wolf howled somewhere north, near the river lands past Harrenhal. The packs roamed freely there, he heard. Hunting man and beast alike, they were fearless, led by a massive female that was bigger than any hunting dog breed. Robb turned immediately to the south as Grey Wind emerged, blood staining his muzzle and his fur clumped with dirt and leaves from his hunt.

Robb brushed the leaves aside and patted the wolf's head. He licked his fingers and settled down beside him, pillowing his head beneath his own body.

As he watched the stars come out, he stood slowly and shook his sisters awake.

"We have to pass Harrenhal tonight." he whispered. Sansa's eyes were wide, and she nodded and stood up.

Nymeria remained guarding Edwyn as he shook his awake, and hands immediately went to around his throat, were the fading yellow bruises were still visible. Where Robb had tried to kill him. He rubbed the small lump on the back of his head, and winced at the pain that throbbed where the dagger hilt had knocked him senseless.

Grabbing his upper arm, he hauled him up with whatever upper strength still remained to him, but it was more effort from Edwyn to get him standing.

"Come on, we're moving." He said briskly, pushing him towards his horse. Grey Wind stood beside him and nudged his leg gently, but he still stumbled slightly. He head was lightheaded, and the world was tilted slightly to the left. He managed to walk straight to his horse and mount him, swinging his leg over and sitting straight and tall.

Sansa and Arya were already on their horse, who Sansa called Queen. Queen snorted and started towards the immense black castle in the darkness.

It was maybe half an hour later when they actually passed around it, though half a mile away Robb could still see it in the gloom. Massive towers were charred and melted, like broken blocks knocked over by a giant. The castle was glowing with tens of fires, orange specks dotting the castle like the sky. He could see men patrolling the walls, passing in front of the fires and casting long shadows. Robb ducked his head as if the men could see him. The feeling of dizziness persisted, like his head was stuffed with clouds. His eyes drooped from the lack of sleep, but he forced them open.

Grey Wind walked beside him, alert and more awake then Robb felt. Nymeria was a shapeless shadow ahead, along with Sansa, Arya and Edwyn and their horses. He followed the path they set around the castle, off the Kingsroad and into open area, free of cover.

The sun rose, fiery fingers stretching across the land, and the moon faded, descending across the sky. He slumped in the saddle and let his eyes slide closed, spinning into welcome oblivion…

_And he was beside the horse, padding along on four legs, the world alive with smells and sounds. He turned his head and his mind reeled back. His companion was slumped in the saddle, breathing softly, and head hanging low. His red hair hung into his eyes, touching his shoulders, and he looked in need of a shave, the red bristles uncut for a long time, and he was gaunt and pale and weak. His hands hung limply at his side, half curled into a sword grip, and he frowned in sleep._

_If he was resting, that was good. Injured needed rest, some part of his mind told him. It was unfamiliar, strange, and different. He ignored it and stayed close to his companion's side, one eye always trained on the weasel man on the horse. If he escaped, ran off back to the stone towers over the river and stinking of spilt blood, they would harm his sisters, his littermates. He would never let anyone or anything touch his sisters again._

**JON POV**

After the first raven, he had received no more news, and heard nothing of his brother's fate. And he was desperate for news. A single word on paper would do, something to lift the weight that was pressing on his mind. The weight that was slowly crushing him under the pressure.

Something to stop the half hope hidden in the deepest corners of his mind, the half hope that Robb escaped, he was well and alive and free of King's Landing, taking Sansa with him. The brother he would see again someday, if he survived the wildlings and Others and if Robb survived his execution and running across Westeros with what would most likely be half of Tywin Lannister's army after him.

Then, word came with a batch of new prisoners sent to the Wall. A man from King's Landing, sent for raping and thieving. He had seen the execution himself he said to Jon.

He cornered him after and asked "What of the execution of the King in the North."

The man, named Pog, laughed and said "Why does it matter to you bastard?"

Jon ignored the jab, but his fists clenched tightly. "I am of the north, I wish to hear of how its king is doing."

Pog snorted and said "I thought the Night's Watch took no part in the affairs of the south. What's the interest?"

Jon narrowed his eyes and demanded "The execution, Pog."

Pog crossed his arms and said "I am not telling nothing until you tell me something. Now talk green boy."

Jon's control snapped. Days of worry, nights full of blood and pleading eyes and swinging steel, his mind was on edge.

Ghost stepped from the shadows he had hidden in, lips pulled back to reveal his sharp teeth, and his claws clacked against the stone ground. Pog backed to the stone wall behind him. "What the seven hells is that monster?" he demanded, but his voice shook with fear and Ghost crept forward until he was inches from him, and Jon placed a hand on Ghost's head.

"Tell me now." He growled, and Pog stuttered out "King escaped, red head man freed him and the girl. They ran. Please, call of the monster."

He released Pog and his heart leaped in his chest. Robb was still alive, still safe, and with Sansa free as well. His brother and sister were safe. A smile spread across his face, no matter how much he tried he could not wipe it off his face.

They were safe…

Ghost ran around his feet, as if sensing the joy and relief building in Jon, and sharing the knowledge that his brother was alive.

**MARGAERY POV**

The sun rose pale and cold, the sky a dreary grey, threatening rain or snow of some sort. The overhanging black clouds promised thunderstorms worse than those at Storm's End. The soft rainfall awoke Margaery, bringing with it a clap of thunder.

Nothing could be a worse omen for her wedding.

She dragged herself out of bed, throwing back the silk covers and stepping towards the window, letting her hand catch droplets of water rolling down the thick stone walls and slip away down her fingers.

The dread that had been building up for this day reached a breaking point. She lifted her face to the rain, letting it mingle with the streaks of tears running down her face. Joffrey was cruel, and would beat her and rape her in her own wedding bed.

A voice, very like her grandmother's, whispered "You will let a lion beat down a rose? This is not the granddaughter I raised. You are a rose, show them your thorns."

She wiped her tears away. None would see them, but she would not become a quiet shell like Sansa was, before being freed from her prison. She would show them that a rose would not shy from duty, and that Tyrells were not always compliant little girls.

She shut the windows with a snap and turned her back on the brewing thunder storm. She pulled her wedding dress from her chest and laid it across her bed. Then she summoned a servant to fill her bath. After soaking in the boiling warm water, scrubbing till her skin was pink and sensitive, she stepped out and summoned another servant to help her dress.

It took longer than Margaery expected for the dress to slip over her head and fall to the floor. It had to be done precisely, in a certain way so the pearls would not tear fabric and delicate golden stitching would not come undone. When she was ready, she spun around in the silk dress, her skirts flying out up to her ankles around her. Her cousins arrived then, and they giggled and clapped and complimented her on her fine dresses. Ushering her into a chair, they set about doing her hair into a fine, elegant style, "befitting a queen" as her cousin Alla said.

As they fiddled with her brown curls, Margaery pulled the brown box of jewels into her lap and sorted through them until she found the necklace her grandmother gave her yesterday. The charm was the length of her finger, spiraling around her finger like a long ring and a swirl of green emerald and gold dust. It hung on a fine silver chain, and she clasped it around her neck.

Elinor noticed it first, and she asked "What is that Marge?"

Margaery fingered the charm and said "A betrothal gift from my grandmother. It complements the gown, does it not?"

It was like a flock of birds had suddenly gained voice, chirping about how it fit her gown perfectly, and it made her seem older and more elegant. They giggled over her bedding tonight, and gushed about the wedding ceremony in the Sept of Baelor, where the execution of Robb Stark was supposed to take place. Now it would be where she joined hands with the vile king and became his wife and him her husband.

"Come on Marge, smile. You would think your dressing up for your own funeral." Alla chided, the girls giggling and laughing. Margaery stretched the biggest, brightest smile she could across her face,

Her hair was styled, drawn back in a loose braid that suited the dress and some curls were left hanging, framing her face. Finally, she clasped the fine gold chain around her throat, the deep green maiden cloak around her shoulders, bordered with gold vines and embroidered to the center in a massive golden rose of her house. It was the most beautiful maiden's cloak she had ever seen.

Her ladies tittered and talked as she left her rooms, following her down and providing sufficient distraction to the looming wedding. Until a Lannister guard approached and said "The queen wishes for you to travel by litter with her to the sept."

Margery nodded and shot a look at her ladies as they smiled at her. She followed the man, a boy of seventeen, to wherever the queen's litter awaited. She clambered into the litter when they arrived, and the thick red curtains were pulled shut.

The queen sat stiffly, watching her like an animal would its prey. She narrowed her jewel green eyes, alit with the madness of power. She suddenly realized this was what King Aerys' eyes must have looked like in his final years, burning with madness like wildfire. Cersei poured a glass of Arbor wine and offered her one.

She took it silently, waiting for the queen to rant and shout and scream at her, or threaten her.

Cersei said in a low voice "I heard from my son that you were punished sufficiently for allying with the false king Renly."

Margery made no sound, choosing to let the lioness queen to finish before speaking.

"I hope that no more persuasion will be required to teach you that the lions are the true kings, the real holders of the throne." Cersei said, sipping at her goblet and watching Margaery for any hint of a reaction.

Margaery narrowed her eyes at the queen, but said nothing of protest. Margaery would guarantee that she never got punished again.

"No my lady."

Cersei smiled at her, but it was cold and distant, aloof even. Cersei thought herself better and smarter than Margery. Margaery would show her. She wasn't a defenseless rose. Roses had thorns, as lions had claws.

They arrived at the sept in silence. She took the offered hand of her brother Loras, who smiled at her and said "If only I looked that fine in a dress."

Margaery smiled at her brother and said "We should see some time. The Knight of Flowers in a pretty little dress. How would your lady admirers talk."

Loras smiled wider and said "Alright, father is waiting for you. He's giving away your hand for the first time."

Margaery took her brother's offered hand and said "Only because he wasn't there the first time."

Loras escorted her to the door and offered her hand to her father, who embraced her tightly.

"Look at my little rose, to wed her second king." Mace Tyrell smiled and kissed either cheek.

Margaery kissed his and said "Let us hope this is the last king. There are no more to wed."

Mace laughed and Loras slipped away, to go guard her betrothed inside. She felt her hands shake, but stilled them as he father tucked them in his elbow.

He led her inside and Margaery gazed around the sept.

A thousand candles were lit, making the room close to stifling hot and the room was draped in red and gold banners, the roaring lions closing in around her. Cersei was sitting at the front, her lips pursed into a thin line. Joffrey gave her a big smile, showing all his teeth. He was a handsome boy, but she could see the cruel light glowing in his eyes, mirror reflections of his mother's. Rose petals of maiden white, blood red and rosy pink scattered across floor, and they formed a walkway for her and her father to walk down to her intended. They passed her grandmother, and her two guards, Cersei and young Tommen, her cousins Alla, Elinor and the rest of her ladies, Tyrion Lannister almost hidden behind Tywin Lannister. Her father held out her hand as they reached the front, and Joffrey took it in hard hands. The High Septon stood before them and the service began.

She tried to ignore Joffrey's hard grip on her hands, her fingers pressed tightly together, and the harsh smirk twisting his face. As the Septon gave the word, Joffrey unchained the green cloak from around her shoulders. Her arms shivered as his hand brushed her shoulder when he threw the red velvet cloak over her shoulders, giving her the name Lannister. She gripped the silk of her pale green dress and felt comfort that she retained some part of her house with her.

They exchanged vows and were presented to the crowd, and Joffrey sealed their wedding with a kiss, crashing his lips against her. The crowd clapped politely, and she saw her cousins' faces smiling and cheering amongst the hundred people. They walked down the aisle together, amidst the smiles and congrats. She resisted the urge to wipe her mouth, and stretched her brightest smile across her face. She would play the part of the pretty young maiden wife for now, and she reached and took her grandmother's hand. The cold flask was pressed into her palm, and she smiled at the Queen of Thorns and fixed the flask into her necklace, where it would remain unless she so desired.

She was a better player at the game then Sansa Stark, and she would not let Joffrey beat her like a dog. She was a Tyrell, and her grandmother taught her the game years ago, and she itched for her time to play the game of thrones.

But she could wait another night. She had to last through her wedding feast. Then the bedding. Then she could start her game.

**WOHOO! Don't care if I spelled that wrong. Long break, but it was Christmas, so cut me a break. Merry Christmas for all the people who read this. Hope you have a good new year. I got Dance of Dragons and I promised myself I would write before I opened it. So I've been slaving these past two days, enjoy. Jon Snow's was short, but he had no real impact in the War of Five Kings until Stannis shows up.**

**Wedding feast next. Contemplating the poisoning or not. Should I or should I not. Review your suggestions, majority will win. But I missed you all.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Only one vote from MB18932, who put it quite nicely. Amen to that. Also, to tammgrogan, and Incognito15, thank you for your reviews. Everyone else, keep them coming.  
Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire**

**RUGOR POV**

Days of constant travel eventually took their toll.

He lay gasping for breath, his chest heaving. The days were hot like mid summer, the nights as cold as mid winter. He shivered and sweated and starved and thirsted and he felt the cut on his thigh ache with infection. His horse, who he named Trident, trotted on day after day, seeming to never lose strength. He ate grass in the evenings and kept going.

He felt like singing when the God's Eye came into view, the vast expanse of blue water. He caught fish like his father taught him and drank water every day. He even allowed himself to bathe once one night, and came out feeling better then if he had a mug of ale and a warm hearth at his feet.  
He needed to find the king. Freys and Lannisters ran through the land, pillaging and raping and burning their way through the Riverlands. He spotted several groups of horsemen, but they were far, too far to be worried about.

Then, one day he came on the remains of a camp.  
The fire was several days' old, white ash and black soot the only markers of the long cold hearth. There were dried branches gone un-burnt, claws dug into dirt where dog or wolf had dug at the earth. He found boot prints everywhere, and paw prints too big to be any hound Rugor had ever seen. And he had traveled enough with direwolves to know what their tracks were.

This was one of the Starks camps.

He scoured the camp until he found their horses' hoof prints in the dirt and grass, wolf tracks alongside. He mounted Trident and spurred him on, urging a faster pace after the tracks, counting three sets.

He frowned. He remembered the Starks at the burning house, with only two horses. Where had they gotten the third?

He put his questions aside for the time. They would be answered when he caught up with them. And he would catch up with them. He had promised not only the queen, but himself, swore it on the honor of his wife and son. He would find them, and bring them safely to Riverrun.

Spurring Trident on even faster, he broke into a full run, racing alongside the bank of the God's Eye.

Night fell swiftly, and with little warning. One moment, it was bright, the sun in the sky. The next, the sky was orange, the sun sinking behind clouds and darkness setting in.

He dismounted and led Trident to the lake, kneeling on the ground and scooping water to his mouth. It was still cool under the sun, and it sent a shiver of pleasure through his spine. What had he come to where water made him happier then when his wife announced she was carrying his child in her belly?

He ignored the question, burying them in the corner of his mind with the rest of the unyielding demands that burned for answers. What of the siege at Riverrun? Was it captured? Were the king and princesses in any danger at all? Would he catch up to them in time? What of the Hound?

Days after his run-in with the Lannister's dog, he had looked back constantly, scanning for the monster horse and man in black, swinging a sword overhead and screaming curses. It haunted his dreams the first two nights, the sword pointed at his throat and steel sliding through bone and muscle like a knife through butter, the cold hand of death grasping his heart and turning his skin cold and white.

He broke dried wood in his hands, snapping the branches easily and piling them for a fire. Trident neighed and tossed his head, pawing at the ground. The stars glimmered gently in the heavy black sky, like a thousand tiny fires. His father once told him stories of the stars, when he was a young boy of eight. His father told his songs that traversed the Riverlands, the ghosts of their heroes and villains haunting his thoughts late at night. He struck the flint in his pocket, sparks flying like fireflies, catching on the wood and bursting to life. As the orange tongues ate the wood, he fed a few more twisted branches and laid back, his eyes closing. He was close, he could sense that much at least. He would not fail, he would not. Those thoughts were his last before he slipped into the sweet, black dreamless sleep that beckoned.

**SANSA POV**

Sansa would have given many choice things for the ability to fight with a sword, or for her brother to be well, or that the king had never come to Winterfell, and for her dear direwolf to be at her side to defend her.

The Lannister party of four men had caught up with them, appearing almost from nowhere. Grey Wind was gone, alone with Nymeria after something that both snarled and ran off, the mad blood gleam in their eyes.

One man with the golden hair of a Lannister from Lannisport smiled at her and his eyes looked her over, lingering at her woman's shape. Arya frowned, giving him her wolf glare that clearly said "Eyes off."

"Who would you poor travelers be?" the golden haired man asked, his hands holding his horse's reins. The other three men with brown and black hair said nothing, easing their swords from their sheaths. Sansa swallowed and said "Please sers, we are travelers beneath you. If you would let us on our way."

The Lannisport man urged his horse forward until he was right beside her, and he twirled a strand of her red hair in his gloved fingers.

"You're a right pretty thing darling. What's your name sweet thing?"

Sansa edged away from the man with the odd glowing eyes, tales of the rape of Elia Martell flashing in her mind, and of the men raping their way across the Riverlands.

"Leave me sister alone." Robb said weakly, his hands clenching into fists. Sansa had watched him grow thinner then before, weaker until his cheeks were sunken in, his auburn hair touching his shoulders and his neck and forehead beaded with sweat as his body shivered.

_He'll die… he'll die…he'll die…_

"Please sers, I'm Alayne." She said, scrambling for a name that wasn't hers.

The man smiled at her and said "A pretty name for a pretty face."

One of the other men said "If you're going to fuck her, do it already. I want to try her after."

The golden haired man laughed and said "You may not have etiquette, but Lannisters are made of finer material."

The man, with coal black hair, muttered "Just saying, you could hurry up a bit."

The man turned back to her and Sansa urged Queen away from him, his presence sending shivers down her spine and fear tickling her belly.

The golden haired man shook his head and said "Look Lucifer, you ruined it. Now she's scared. I'll have to do this the old way."

He grabbed her wrist with lightning hands, dragging her off her horse and lying her on the ground.

Arya shouted, wrestling against the man holding her tightly. Edwyn watched with blank eyes, as if this was nothing but a nightmare. Robb threw aside the hands holding him still and his horse reared, legs flailing.

The golden man jumped back to avoid the sharp hooves and grabbed the reins of the horse, steadying the rearing animal. He dragged Robb from his saddle and he barely stood, facing the man with hard eyes, his jaw set stubborn.

Sansa was frozen to watch as the Lannister swung his fist, and Robb ducked, knocking the man into the dirt. He drew the sword at the Lannister's hip and raised it overhead.

One of the other men grabbed his raised hand, his finger bones snapping as the man tightened his fist, the sword clattering to the ground. Robb's face tightened with pain, be he made no sound.

"This one's a tough little green boy." The Lannister said, brushing off his crimson jerkin and said to her "Wait a moment my lady, I have to punish your friend for raising a hand to a Lannister."

Two men dismounted and held Robb's arms to his sides, and he struggled, his broken hand already swelling. Lannister approached, smiling at him as if they were old friends, and drove his foot into his chest. Robb gasped for breath, and before he could recover, the man took the pommel of the sword he retrieved and drove it towards Robb's torso. Robb twisted, avoiding the sword entirely, letting it slide past him harmlessly.

Arya called down "Work on your aim Lannister. You're worse then a girl. I could beat him harder."

Lannister turned on her sister and nodded once. The man holding her slapped her across the cheek, a red mark blossoming across her thin pale cheek. Sansa shrieked "Leave her alone."

That brought Lannister's attention back on her. He smiled and unbuckled his sword belt, dropping it to the ground.

"I almost forgot about you, little flower." He said lowly, and he stalked towards her like a lion after caged prey.

She backed away and saw Robb's eyes get glassy, his tense arms falling limp to his side. He stood unmoving, and Arya shouted curses at the Lannister man as he pinned her to the ground, one hand reaching for her skirts, the other for his breeches. She was crying, pleading for mercy, begging him to stop. The Lannister kept the friendly smile on his face, his eyes trailing down to her skirts.

There was a blur of grey and a scream, and his hands were gone. Sansa pushed herself back, ignoring the dirt on her skirts. Grey Wind, eyes bright and angry and hateful, dug his claws into the man's back, pinning him to the dirt. Lannister screamed and Grey Wind placed his muzzle by his ear, growling, spittle dripping from his teeth, soaking his shoulder. Robb remained standing and unmoving and Grey Wind's lips pulled back in a snarl. The man was weeping, begging for someone to kill the beast and save his life. Sansa noted dimly that Nymeria was chasing the rest of the riders away, snapping at their heels. She stood and ran to Robb, who had collapsed in the dirt and laid staring dimly at the sky. He looked asleep with open eyes, and it scared Sansa more then when Joffrey beat him or whipped him and shouted for him to scream. It scared her on some unknown part, telling her this was unnatural.

"Please, kill him, someone save me." Lannister wept, tears streaming down his cheeks, his arms pinned underneath him by the direwolf's weight.

Sansa brushed off her skirts and said "Grey Wind."

The direwolf turned to her, yellow eyes so familiar, not in shape but the way they held her gaze, so familiar, that she remembered when Robb had gotten mad at Theon when he japed about trying her in the bedchamber. He had gone dark and angry, and that look was in the Grey Wind's eyes now. Robb was like a body without mind, this wolf like an animal with her brother's feelings.

Old Nan's tales of wargs and skin changers flooded her mind, of red eyed monsters that kept animals as pets, monsters at their beck and call, horrible beasts that feasted on flesh through animal teeth. But they couldn't be true. They were stories, and Robb wasn't a monster.

"Grey Wind. She whispered "let him go."

Grey Wind glanced at the Lannister and released him, jumping and going to Robb's side, nudging his neck, his limp head rolling.

The Lannister scrambled to his feet and turned and fled, shouting of wargs and monsters and wolves. She couldn't let him go spreading those stories.

Nymeria caught him first, teeth catching his left leg and he fell to the ground, screaming and fighting. Sansa turned on Arya, but she had no blank look, she climbed down from Queen and knelt at Robb's side, shaking his shoulder. He blinked and the glassiness faded, but he looked almost weaker. He was losing strength quickly; they needed to get going to Riverrun.

_He'll die…he'll die…he'll die…_

He turned on her and his eyes were questioning. He seemed to remember nothing that just happened. He sat up and looked around. He frowned and ruffled Grey Wind's fur. He stood, leaning on the direwolf and said "They won't be alone. Someone will find bodies, something. We have to move."

Arya nodded and ran to Queen, flying on the saddle.

"Come on, we have to leave. Unless you want to keep Lannister company."

She didn't dare glance ahead where Nymeria padded back. She wouldn't. Her stomach was turning already, and she needed to be strong for her brother and sister.

She mounted silently, glancing at Robb as he took the lead, and Edwyn Frey's horse followed along quietly. Edwyn swayed in his saddle, unsteady and shaky, but he looked back at her with unreadable emotions in his face.

A few more days, Robb had to hang on only a little longer. Then they would be safe, they would be with their uncle. And Sansa could watch Grey Wind and Robb, but she didn't dare breathe a word of what she thought.

If Robb was what she thought, then Arya could with Nymeria. Her brothers with Shaggydog and Bran's wolf they were, then she was too. And that thought was too horrible to consider. Joffrey was the monster, not her.

Never her…

**Cut out Margaery's wedding feast, sorry about that. This was, wow, big stuff in there. Sansa might have caught on and Rugor's catching up. *Rubs hands together* we're getting good. I thought of this back in chapter 16 and I've been itching to write this since then. But its not for a few more chapters, so I must bide my time.**

**Read on my friends, read on.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Longest chapter yet, almost 5,000 words. So proud!**

**Alright, with more votes in, this will be the hardest chapter to write. Excuse me if the details are wrong, I tried, but Margaery is not a character that is easily written for me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire.**

**MARGAERY POV**

After they exchanged their vows, and her cloak of green for red, they walked between the crowd, amongst the cheers of the high lords and ladies gathered, all blind to Joffrey's cruel smile that seemed to stretch across his face, that twisted smile that made her think of when he raised his sword to strike off Robb Stark's head. Sansa's tormented screams and shouts and pleas for mercy and the tears that streamed down her cheeks echoed faintly in her ears for a moment.

They rushed out, Margaery using her cloak to shield her from the downpour of rain. Joffrey pushed her aside to reach their carriage first, leaving her to run behind him to catch up.

The Kingsguard rode horses behind them, and Margaery smiled as her brother pushed his sodden hair that hung heavy and damp in his eyes back from his face. She smirked at him before ducking inside the carriage of gold and red, momentarily forgetting her new husband inside.

She sat down and pulled her Lannister cloak around her shoulders, trying to keep the chill of the rain and cold from seeping into her bones. Joffrey smirked at her and asked in a low whisper "Have you learned your lesson about traitors, dear wife?"

Margaery bit back a stinging retort that her grandmother would have inflicted on the rude, arrogant king. Instead, she smiled and said "Yes, Your Grace, I have learnt much from you."

His smirk widened and he leaned close to her ear, his fingers digging into her arm as he pulled her closer still. His lips brushed the side of her face as he whispered harshly "If you show even a hint of treason, you will be punished severely."

Margaery resisted the urges to touch her necklace and shove Joffrey and his vile wormy lips away, as his face lingered close to hers. She couldn't let her mask slip, she was the happy, new wife and she needed to show the people that she embraced her role, with no cracks appearing in her act.

She smiled and hissed his cheek, ignoring her stomach curdling like spoiled milk as her lips touched his skin.

"Fear not my husband," she whispered back to him "I am loyal only to you. Allying with your uncle was a grievous mistake, he is a traitor and unfit to be remembered, and a heathen, and I ask that one day you will truly trust me."

She forced the words about Renly out, feeling her hatred for her husband starting to take root in her heart. She had never truly hated someone before, and the feeling bubbled in her stomach like some sort of fire.

Joffrey smiled and took her hand in his, and she fixed her smile firmly in place.

They were escorted to the castle, the retinue of Kingsguard matching them step for step, all soaked from the rain that was starting to let up a little, though the clouds still rumbled darkly overhead.

She waved at the people gathered, her people she realized with a start, now that she was their new queen. The people loved her, for the food she brought them, and the new queen she had become that could protect them from Joffrey's cruelness. She wondered faintly if they would cheer for Sansa, whose brother had waged war in the Riverlands.

They ducked inside the Red Keep, and she threw one last kiss to the crowd, smiling brightly at them before Joffrey dragged her along inside.

She shed her wet cloak of red and gold. She examined the colors with sudden interest. Joffrey was a Baratheon in name, in color and blood, if the rumors circling were wrong. But he cloaked her with his mother's colors of Lannister, not black and gold like Renly had. She wondered if there was truth in the rumors, that it was a bastard king sitting the throne. That she was now wedded to a bastard, born of incest.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she wrung the water from her slightly damp hair, but it hadn't been damaged much in the seconds she spent in the rain.

She barely registered what happened until her cousins' arms were around her, hugging he and chattering and laughing brightly. She let herself be swept away in the congratulations and gossip and laughter that her cousins swarmed her with. She giggled at japes, listened to her cousins tell her over and over again how handsome her husband was, and that she was a real queen of a real throne now, and how lucky she was.

She smiled at them, but couldn't get a word in edgewise. It might have been better that way, for what would she say? She couldn't say that they were right, but she couldn't crush her cousins' dreams of chivalry.

So she smiled ruefully and thought; if only you knew the truth.

She heard the tapping of a cane on stone, from years of living with grandmother and Willas, and she spotted her grandmother coming towards her, with her two looming guards on either side, Left and Right.

"Come Margaery, I have advice for you before you become a real wife, before your husband takes you to his bed."

Margaery blushed despite the horror she felt at her word, and her cousins giggled and fled, their skirts swishing until it was only her and her grandmother. Left and Right vanished, to guard the doors most likely.

"What is it grandmother?" she asked.

The aged Lady Tyrell marched around her, eyes studying her every move.

"You wear your betrothal gift." She stated, pointing a crooked finger at the metallic ribbon resting perfectly on her chest.

She touched it, the ice cold flask burning against the heat of her skin, still tightly secured. She nodded and said "It was a beautiful gift grandmother, my husband commented on it himself in the carriage."

Margaery knew that the Spider had ears everywhere, and listened every conversation, every word whispered or shouted. She had to be careful with what she said. She knew that her grandmother was talking of the flask, and her grandmother knew that Joffrey threatened her in the carriage.

Grandmother nodded and said "You have married a king Margaery, another king. A king who can have any woman in the seven kingdoms, and he chose you. He can have another queen if you displease him, so focus, and remember what I told you of him."  
Margaery smiled and kissed Grandmother on her wrinkled cheek.

"Come Grandmother, the feast will start soon." She said, escorting her grandmother to the great hall where the feast would take place.

They stood outside the doors to the great hall, where voices of already seated guests drifted from inside. Her father kissed her cheek and her mother embraced her tightly.

She spotted her husband's family quite a bit farther off. Cersei watched her with hard green eyes like stones, and Tywin watched like she was not worth the movement of his eyes to see her. Tyrion was talking with Oberyn Martell and laughing loudly. Her father glared hatefully at the man every time he laughed loud enough for them to hear over the noise.

"It's an insult to invite him to a Tyrell wedding. Especially that Martell." Her father said bitterly. Her mother took his hand and soothed him with some whispered words, but Margaery was curious about the Dornish man. She had never seen one, not while living in the Reach. She knew Oberyn was the one that injured Willas in a joust, his fault that Willas now suffered his twisted leg, and couldn't walk without aid from a cane. He caught her staring and winked with a rather rude smile growing on his face, and she frowned at him. She was a married woman, and his queen now. She deserved more respect than that.

Suddenly, there was someone coughing at her knee. She jumped back and saw the indignant look of Tyrion Lannister looking up at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry my lord, I did not see you there." She said, blushing. Tyrion nodded and said "I gathered that much from your surprise Your Grace."

She nodded and asked "Did you enjoy the wedding my lord?"

He snorted and said "My nephew got a pretty little girl for his bride, what more could he want other than Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon's head?"

Margaery smiled softly and said "I would hope that his head is not being served at my wedding feast, like he planned with Sansa's wedding."

Tyrion shook his head and said "Joffrey would rather piss on it then see it served for his wedding. I shudder to think what would be the entertainment if Lord Stark was still here."

Margaery remembered the flash of his brilliant ice blue eyes, pleading for her to comfort his sister, not even thinking of his own welfare. His ruddy curls that hung almost to his shoulders, and his thin, weak and injured body. She had seen hints of whip lashes around his neck, and she remembered that night, when she thought she heard screams drifting from under her feet, accompanied with sobs.

"It would be too horrible to consider, my lord." She said, shuddering. Then, the Kingsguard arrived, Joffrey with them from wherever he had been. His mother was beside him instantly, brushing back his hair, but he swatted her hand away and spotted her, smiling darkly.

"My nephew, it seems is too excited for his bedding tonight." Tyrion Lannister said drily, and with little humor. He turned on her with mismatched eyes and asked "Are you looking forward to tonight's event?"

Margaery felt the lie on her tongue, could shape the words with her lips. But she couldn't force it past her teeth, like they had become a gate, refusing to let her words slid past. Sansa had no problem letting the lies flow like a river, why was it a struggle for her now.

Tyrion nodded and gave her a grin, his face twisting gruesomely in appearance, but he held no hatred or spite for her. Margaery closed her open mouth and said nothing.

Then Joffrey was beside her, and he sneered at his little uncle.

"What are you doing talking with little monsters sweet bride?" He asked her, pulling her away from the Imp "My grandfather wishes to express his good wishes."

Twyin Lannister cut an imposing figure. He looked at her with eyes like ice and rock, hard and cold and glittering with intelligence and ruthlessness. Her father once said that his wife Joanna had been like her grandmother, and he actually smiled for her. She couldn't imagine his face being anything but serious.

Tywin bowed and said "Your Grace, an honor to meet you." He said in a way that made her think it was anything but an honor. She managed to curtsy and say "My lord, it is an honor to meet you. The realm is full of tales of songs of your prowess, and I heard it was your song that signaled the attack on the northern forces at the Twins and when they captured Robb Stark."

Tywin nodded, his face still serious. Cersei, standing beside him, curled her lip in what could loosely called a smile, and she said "Come along, escort your little wife to the table, the feast is about to start."

Joffrey took her to the front of the line, and hooked her arm through his elbow. She tugged her smile on just in time as the doors opened and she entered the great hall.

Everyone stood and watched them enter, eyes watching her every move. A bard was playing an instrument, but she couldn't name it for the life of her. She felt her smile freeze like ice under the hundreds of eyes watching her. Joffrey tugged on her arm impatiently, the seven faced chalice he received this morning sitting at the table.

She looked around the hall. There were several long benches crowded with people and the hall was draped in crimson and gold with roaring lions seeming to be surrounding her, like a pride on the hunt closing in on their prey. At the high table, under the Lannister table was the largest red banner she had ever seen, spanning half the wall. The lion, mane of golden tassels and hide of golden velvet. It loomed over the Lannister table, as if warning the crowd that if they messed with the Lannisters, they would have to face the wrath of the lion. On the Tyrell table, behind them was a less glorious green banner of silk with a golden rose embroidered haphazardly, and sort of crooked if Margaery could be the judge. They all took their seats, Oberyn Martell thankfully sitting far away from the Tyrells and already immersing himself in a bottle of Dornish red.

Tyrion was sitting beside her brother Garlan- when did he get there? - and his lady wife Leonette beside him. They were talking and laughing quietly, and Margaery knew that the Imp was displaying his immeasurable amount of sarcasm on her brother, who had an appreciative ear for it.

Margaery turned back to her husband who was trying to draw her attention. He was the perfect picture, growing handsome with his Lannister golden hair and green eyes, and with an actual smile on his face, Margaery felt something akin to affection fluttering in her heart. It lasted half a moment as his smile turned to a sneer and he drained the chalice, dripping red wine on his doublet.

The first course was brought, of the seventy seven that Margaery knew for a fact the cooks had slaved over. She didn't eat much, too preoccupied talking to her father and Joffrey when he turned to her for half a minute to keep up show. She smiled and complimented every dish, though she didn't taste half of what she was eating.

Somewhere nearing what Margaery guessed was the middle of the courses, Joffrey lurched drunkenly to his feet, more like his father in that moment than any other that Margaery had seen. His father had been a drunk who enjoyed feasting and pretty girls, and Joffrey looked to be starting into the heritage.

"Bring on my royal jousters!" he shouted thickly, swaying on his feet. Margaery wondered for a moment if he had finally taken leave of his senses, when the gold cloaks at the doors opened them and a great clanking and clattering noise preceded what could only be her husband's jousters.

It was two dwarves entered, wearing wooden armor painted in the colors of the Starks and Baratheons. She glanced at Loras for a moment, and his jaw was tight with anger. She turned back to the dwarves, and realized what they were riding. The Stark knight was riding a massive fat sow, covered in dark spots. The Baratheon knight was riding one of the ugliest hounds Margaery had ever seen, old and grey. Their massive painted shields stood taller than them, but they managed to ride to the front of the high table and salute to their king.

The hall exploded with laughter, and she heard many of the high table snorting and giggling, though trying to hide it under hands and beneath cup rims. She was stoic faced as the Stark knight dropped his shield and the Baratheon knight hit him across the back, and they ended up in a tangle on the floor, a mess of limbs and angry curses.

They stood and mounted the others' rides, with the wrong shields and facing backwards, much to the amusement of the crowd. After a minute of sorting, they charged to the end of the hall and Margaery felt a jolt go through her spine. It was not a dwarf riding the dog, but Renly, wearing the armor he wore when he rode off into his final battle, a smile on his face and Baratheon colors streaming from his fine horse.

She turned to the dwarf on the pig, only it was no dwarf, but Robb Stark, wearing grey armor and a serious expression, clean of blood and looking more regal then either Joffrey or Renly ever had. The Stark banner was draped over his horse's back, and he looked at her with the coldest blue eyes she had ever seen. As if he were blaming her for this joust.

She blinked and the knights of dead and dying were gone, replaced with the dwarves from before. She felt her breathing hitch.

She wondered what Sansa say if she was were here. If this was the mockery that Joffrey had planned, she shuddered to think what would happen if Robb Stark was actually here, vulnerable to Joffrey's cruelest impulses.

She blinked and the bodies of dead and dying were replaced with tiny dwarves collided with a crash. The Stark knight struck off the Baratheon knight's head, sending it flying through the air.

Women screeched and men shouted and dogs barked and howled. Lord Gyles pulled out a broken watermelon as the Baratheon knight's head poked out of his armor, and the building nearly shook with the ensuing laughter.

As they laughed, the knights circled, trading insults and waited for the noise to quiet. Then the Stark knight was thrown from his mount and the dog tried to mount the pig. The pig squealed in protest and all the guests giggled at the spectacle. They roared when the Baratheon knight pulled down his breeches and started thrusting into the Stark knight.

She felt bile tickle the back of her throat and her stomach rolled in protest. Joffrey was laughing the loudest, and Margaery touched the flask at her neck. Now would be perfect, she could mime pouring him more wine, and instead she would pour the contents of the flask into the wine cup.

Joffrey grabbed his cup before she could even free the flask and giggled like a child when the Stark knight yelled "I yield, I yield, good ser, put up your sword!"

To the guests' merriment, the Baratheon knight shouted "I would, I would, if you'll stop moving the sheath!"  
Margaery remembered Tyrion then, sitting at the far end of the Lannister table, half in shadow. His face was dark, watching the spectacle silently, and she knew her husband would be forced to match wits with the Lannister dwarf. She couldn't believe that Joffrey would be this cruel to his uncle.

Finally, Joffrey stood again, knocking over the chalice and spilling wine.

"A champion," he slurred, and the dwarves sprang apart, expecting royal thanks. "We have a champion."

She saw Joffrey's face twist with cruel thoughts that his drunken state couldn't mask. "Not a true champion thought. A true champion defeats all challengers."

He clambered up unsteadily onto the table and lurched, almost falling over. She half hoped he would.

"Who else will challenge our tiny champion?" With a gleeful smile, he turned towards Tyrion, who was watching with an iron face masking his anger. "Uncle! You'll defend the honor of my realm, won't you? You can ride the pig!"

The following laughter at the jape nearly lifted the roof off the hall. Margaery felt pity stir in her heart for the dwarf, but couldn't help but bite her tongue as Tyrion's face turned dark and he climbed up on the table as well, and she knew that Joffrey was about to be embarrassed in front of all these lords.

He twisted his face into the most mocking smile Margaery had ever seen and he called out to her husband "Your Grace, I'll ride the pig…but only if you ride the dog."

Joffrey frowned, his usual stupidity crippled by his intake of wine. "Me? I'm no dwarf, why me?"

Margaery bit her lip as she saw a flicker of a smile. This was the insult Tyrion was building up to.

"Why, you're the only man in the hall that I'm certain of defeating."

Margaery used all her self-control to keep the wide smile from blooming on her face. The guests had no such qualms, bursting into laughter as loud as when the tiny jousters had entered the hall. Joffrey's face had turned bright red, added with the flush of wine, and he ordered some knights to help him down from the table.

Tyrion looked quite pleased with himself until Joffrey stalked forward, and a mocking smirk flitted across his face.

"Your Grace." Tyrion managed before Joffrey up ended the cup, filled with wine, all over his uncle's head. The hall was deathly silent, watching the exchange.

"How do you like that Imp?" Joffrey mocked loudly, his voice reaching every corner of the deathly silent hall.

Tyrion wiped wine from his eyes and from his face. Garlan said something quietly, but Tyrion waved it aside.

"Not at all Ser Garlan." She heard him say "Not every king would think to honor a humble subject by serving him from his own royal chalice. A pity the wine spilled."

Margaery waited for Joffrey to take the opening that Tyrion offered him, but of course, that was too much to be expected.

"It didn't spill," Joffrey growled "And I wasn't serving you, either."

Margaery stood and swooped over, tugging on his elbow. "My sweet king," she pleaded "come, return to your place, there's another singer waiting."

Her grandmother appeared like a specter beside her, trying to draw Joffrey's attention from Tyrion "Alaric of Eysen, I do so hope he plays us 'the Rains of Castamere' it has been an hour, I've forgotten how it goes."

Margaery pressed her point "Ser Addam has a toast he wants to make as well," she pleaded "Your Grace, please."

Their efforts proved futile. "I have no wine," Joffrey declared, looking more sober now than he had before the feast. "How can I drink a toast if I have no wine? Uncle Imp, you can serve me. Since you won't joust you'll be my cupbearer."

Tyrion made no protest or mocking faces, only said "I would be most honored."

It was the wrong thing to say. "It's not meant to be an honor!" Joffrey screamed. "Bend down and pick up my chalice."

Tyrion did as he was told, but as he reached for the fine chalice, Joffrey kicked it from between his legs.

"Pick it up! Are you as clumsy as you are ugly?" Joffrey ordered. Tyrion was forced to crawl under the table to fetch the cup.

"Good, now fill it with wine." The dwarf grabbed a flagon from a serving girl and filled the chalice, his face a stony mask. He raised it up to Joffrey, but he said "No, on your knees dwarf."

Complying, Tyrion went to his knees and raised the chalice to Joffrey, and he took it and had a deep drink.

"You can get up now, Uncle."

Tyrion seemed to have difficulty standing. Only after her brother offered a hand did he stand. Joffrey laughed and soon others joined him. Margaery felt only pity for the poor dwarf, her good uncle now.

Lord Twyin's voice was as cold as northern ice. "Your Grace, they are bringing the pie. Your sword is needed."

Joffrey took her hand and said "The pie? Come my lady, it's the pie."

He dragged her to the front of the high table where the massive dove pie was being brought forward, shaking and cooing.

Joffrey made to draw his sword at his belt, but Margaery stayed his hand.

"Widow's Wail was not meant for slicing pies." She insisted, and Joffrey conceded to her point.

"True," Joffrey said "Ser Ilyn Payne, your sword."

The King's Justice melted from the shadows, and Margaery felt a shiver of fear trailing down her spine. He was like a walking corpse, eternally silent with no tongue to speak of or with, and gaunt and with dark eyes.

Ser Ilyn bowed to Joff and back over his shoulder to the greatsword she was startled to see, he still wore. He knelt and offered the sword to him hilt first, the grinning skull watching her with frozen fire for eyes.

Margaery took Joffrey's hand and they swung, the pie crust breaking under the blade and doves erupted, soaring into the sky, scared off by the shouts and clapping of the guests beneath them. Margaery glanced at Lord Tyrion, who was sitting silently watching them, red wine dripping into his eyes.

Then, he stood and turned to leave, most likely to change out of his clothes, damp with red wine and clinging to his body. Joffrey sensed his uncle's movements and turned to him.

"Uncle, where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?" Joffrey called. Margaery wished now more than ever that she was only one of the crowd, not married to the man making a fool of himself and his uncle.

"I need to change into fresh garb, Your Grace. May I have your leave?" Tyrion asked, voice dangerously calm.

"No," Joffrey shook his head "I like the look of you this way. Serve me my wine."

The king's chalice sat where he had left it, and the poor Lannister had to climb back on his chair to reach it. Joff yanked it from his hand, lifting it to his mouth and streams of purple running into his collar. "My lord." She said from beside him "we should return to our places. Lord Buckler wants to toast us."

Joffrey removed the chalice from his face and said "My uncle hasn't eaten his pigeon pie." Holding his chalice in one hand, he thrust his hand in the pie. "It's ill luck not to eat the pie," he sounded like a child as he filled his mouth with the hot pigeon pie "See, it's good."

Coughing out dry flakes, he took another handful and shoved it in his mouth. "Dry though. Needs washing down." He took a long draught of wine and said "I to see you, kof, see you ride that, kof, kof, pig, Uncle. I want…" his words were broken by a coughing fit.

Margaery frowned. The flask at her neck was untouched, she had done nothing to the king's drink.

"Your Grace?" she asked.

"It's, kof, the pie, noth- kof, pie." Joffrey took another drink, more tried to but all the wine spewed back out when another coughing fit struck. His face was turning red and he coughed again.

"I, kof, I can't, kof, kof, kof…"

The chalice fell slowly, clattering to the ground and red wine crept across the stone.

"He's choking!" Margaery gasped, the shock of her dying husband beside her making her stumble back.

Her grandmother was beside her again, screeching "Help the poor boy!"

Margaery watched her brother thump Joff's back and a Kettleback ripped open his collar.

Tyrion was shoved to the side, watching with an odd calm face and air around him, and Margaery realized that Joffrey was dying.

She gripped the flask and found it untouched, the top shut tightly and sealed with unbroken wax, and the coldness crept into her fingers, freezing her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes and she clung to her grandmother, unable to conjure tears as she was frozen like ice. She hadn't seen someone die right in front of her like this, she had seen plenty of tourneys and such, but no murder at a man's wedding feast.

She thought faintly this was the shock that filled Catelyn Stark at her brother' s wedding, as she watched her son get filled with quarrels and his army slaughtered around her.

People were in a panic, shouting for help and advice, Maester Pycelle calling for someone to help him fetch his potions, but none paid him any mind.

Joffrey clawed at his throat as his face darkened, a high thin sound of him struggling to draw breath. She watched as Ser Meryn, who had beat her once, pried open the king's mouth to shove a spoon down his throat.

He reached a feeble hand for his uncle, almost pointing. "No!" Cersei wailed "Father help him, someone help him, my son, my son…"

She wondered again if Catelyn had shouted something similar as her son was almost killed before her eyes, if she had plead to the gods and Walder Frey.

When Cersei screamed, she knew it was over.

The king was dead…

**Alright, I didn't write a lot of this, I took almost all of it from the book, but flipped the point of view a bit. I almost don't even own this chapter. Sorry Librarian, but it seemed prudent for Joffrey to die. **

**Well, that's all the POV for this chapter. Enjoy. May Joffrey be cursed by the gods.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Okay, so things are getting good for me now. My plan is taking form, and getting close on the path to what I've been building up to. One of what I hope you will find to be epic chase scenes is coming up hopefully next chapter. Everyone knows hopefully what happened to Riverrun in the books. If you get the hint, good. If not, well, you get it in the first sentence.**

**JEYNE POV**

"What do you mean, we have to evacuate?" Jeyne demanded. She sat in Robb's council room, with what remained of his lords sitting around her.

Edmure frowned and turned on his uncle. "I will not abandon my castle for some cats clawing at the door."

The Blackfish was a serious, imposing man. He wore a worn brown cloak over his shoulders, like he was trying to appear poor.

"Your people are starving around you Edmure. You have to see that. Those cats are growing impatient, and impatient men do reckless things. They have Freys in their midst, and our allies who fight only for their imprisoned families. If you surrender your keep, they will be fed."

Edmure crossed his arms and Jeyne said "My husband is traveling across the Riverlands, trying to reach Riverrun where he will expect his forces to still hold. I will not abandon Robb."

The Blackfish turned to her and said "Do you think he will thank you for risking your own safety. He charged me to protect you, and protect you I will. Riverrun will be under Lannister hands for maybe a moon, no longer."

Jeyne looked to Edmure, who was turning red and the rest of the lords who were talking amongst themselves.

Jeyne stood, and touched the dagger she had taken to wearing on her hip. Robb had been taken while she was tied up, helpless as he was carried away. She had been tied hand and foot and watched his head roll, and blood slowly spreading the dark red stain across his bandages. His head had lolled towards her, eyes opening for a moment to look at her and when the man slammed and locked the door, Grey Wind had howled so angrily and pitifully.

She would not fail her husband again.

"My lords." She said, bringing their attention on her. She imagined Robb beside her, his rough hand in hers. The thought brought her strength to continue.

"The Blackfish makes an important point. If we flee now, we can guarantee no prisoners of the high lords, buying the allegiance of the other houses. If we sit and stay, we have only the knowledge that Riverrun will burn bright like a fallen star when the Lannisters invade."

She looked around and locked eyes with Edmure, and she said "I am sorry my lord, but we have to abandon Riverrun."

He turned red in the face and said "I will not abandon my people in their time of need."

The Blackfish said "Then you will give the Lannisters the lord they need to execute and give Riverrun a Frey lord. I hate this as much as you do Edmure, but listen to reason."

Edmure clenched his fists and said "Where would we go then, if we do leave Riverrun to the lion?"

"Seagard." She said "It's closest. We can send them a raven and they can send ships. They will help, they hate Freys as much as any of us."

Edmure opened his mouth, but Greatjon said first "Pardon Your Grace, but Seagard is close to the Twins. They will invade and take the castle and with it, you Your Grace."

"We will not stay there for long. Maybe a week at best." Jeyne said. Edmure closed his mouth and said "And where would we run to after that Your Grace."

Jeyne felt the plan forming in her mind, crazy, but the house in control was a staunch supporter of her husband.

"Greywater Watch would take us in. Freys couldn't find it, nor Lannisters. We could destroy the Iron born hunting through the Neck, and for that reason alone they would take us in. It would work." She insisted.

The north lords were nodding, but one of the Riverlords still loyal to Edmure, with colors she didn't know on his breast, frowned and said "The Neck is more dangerous than an army of lions. Everything there is meant to kill. We would all die before reaching Greywater."

Jeyne pounded her fist on the table and said "I watched men take your king from his sickbed, where he lay weak and dying. I will not watch as Lannisters take any more, no more of you will be prisoners of the Lannisters. Lord Tully, they will take your wife and sell her to another lord, and butcher you and your people. They will not hesitate to kill you all when they break these walls. And they will."

Blackfish was nodding, a hint of pride in his eyes. Edmure looked lost for words, and Jeyne looked around at the rest of the lords. They were watching her, and the Greatjon said "She can fight back Lord Edmure. I will go with you to Greywater Watch. Reeds are northern lords, they will listen to the Queen of the North."

Jeyne blushed, the short burst of courage fading as she realized that she had turned a council in her favor. Her husband's council. They would listen to the Blackfish's plan, and they would listen to her.

The weeks she spent trying to gain her husband's lords' respect, she felt she made no headway. Now, surrounded by burly northern lords and Riverlords, she felt their respect for her grow a little, if only a touch. As if they finally trusted her with their fate.

The thought made her smile.

"Ser Blackfish, how do you plan to sneak the lords out of Riverrun?"

**ARYA POV**

It was her and Sansa alone that night, Edwyn Frey tied hand and foot and Robb thankfully resting peacefully. Grey Wind was hunting, and Nymeria watched them with yellow eyes. The fire was welcome, the coming cold bringing with it a layer of frost every morning. They were far enough from Harrenhal that she and Robb agreed it was safe enough to light fires again.

Sansa watched her place another branch on the fire, her eyes flickering to Robb every minute or so, as if expecting him to vanish into thin air if she didn't watch him.

"He'll survive the night Sansa, he doesn't need to a mother hen." She told her sister. She frowned when Sansa's eyes distanced for a moment, as if she was thinking of something in the past for a minute.  
"What?" she interrupted, making her jump slightly "What are you thinking about?"

Sansa glared at her, but it was halfhearted. They were all worried and tired and sleep brought only nightmares of cold hands and blank eyes, sometimes hunting in the woods. They had no time for petty arguments.

"It's nothing, don't worry." Sansa said, but Arya narrowed her eyes at her sister.

"Don't lie, it's something. Tell me, I'm not a little girl." She insisted. Sansa sighed, as if something had been settled in her mind.

"When I was at King's Landing, before he was to be beheaded, Robb saw the maester. He said, well, he said…"

Arya shook Sansa's shoulders and said "Tell me already, it can't be that bad."

Sansa locked eyes with her and said in a low voice "The maester said that with his wounds, his fever, and the infection, that Robb will die."

Arya felt something cold and stone like grip around her heart. It clung tightly, freezing her heart like ice.

"No," she shook her head, repeating "No, I will not let him die. He can't die, he just, he can't…"

She imagined him still and cold and pale, buried deep in the crypts of Winterfell.

"We just have to reach Riverrun. We'll be fine there, we just have to get there." Arya said.

Sansa shook her head, as if it was some childish fantasy that their brother would live past the next few days. That made Arya's temper flare. She was giving up on him already? What kind of sister was she?

She stabbed the fire with a branch and Nymeria growled as if it had tried to bite her. Sparks and cinders circled into the air, like fireflies. Sansa lay down, as if she realized her sister was beyond words. Arya was fine, she didn't want to talk to anyone.

She stood and brushed off her trousers that she had stolen from a farmer's house moons ago. The knees were almost worn through, and they had holes in some places.

She pressed her hand lightly to Robb's forehead, and frowned at the heat that was burning underneath his skin.

She missed Jon more keenly than ever. He would know what to do, and he would laugh at her asking for help and muss up her hair. He would know what to do about Edwyn gods' curse him Frey, and he could help Robb. They weren't close, but he was still her brother, and Robb's best friend after her. And she wished she had Needle with her, Jon's gift.

Robb shifted, lying on his back, his broken fingers splinted himself with some thick twigs and strips of cloth from the end of his trouser leg. They were swollen and looked painful. He muttered something, but he remained sleeping.

"I promise I'll get you to safety." She whispered to him.

She lay down and closed her eyes, but not before she muttered into the crook of her arm "Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Dunsen, and Poliver, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Gregor, the Tickler and the Hound."

**SANDOR POV**

"Bloody damned Rivers." He muttered to himself as Strange trotted down the Kingsroad, the unfamiliar winter sun beating down on his bare head that was bowed, watching the road disappear under every hoof step.

His head had rung for almost an hour after the bloody bastard boy had run, and he had stolen the golden dragon on the counter before bursting out of the inn. He was gone, racing off on a brown horse that one man was shouting was his property. Sandor snorted at the man, but strolled to the stables and saddled Stranger, the massive black horse watching one of the stable hands almost hatefully, a man named Ghare if he remembered. He saw his scars and could say that the Hound was in the village. He could pay the man for his silence, but dead men kept better secrets.

He walked forward until he was less than two feet from the man. Sliding his sword through his ribs, he said "Gods damn you river bastard."

Ghare died quietly, which he was thankfully. He keeled over, red blossoming across his tunic. He shoved him under a pile of hay, and sheathed his sword again, wiping the blood on the dead man's pant leg before parting.

"Don't take it personally, I just want no word going around that I was here." He said. The dead man said nothing, buried under hay and already the place was stinking of blood. Stranger watched him saddle up and urge him forward and out of the small village.

He reached for the flagon of ale he bought from the innkeeper, and took a swallow. He could follow the river bastard if he wanted, he would lead him to the Starks. And Joffrey wanted the Starks brought to him. Robb and the damned little bird.

He brought her face to mind, when he had stumbled into her rooms during the Battle of the Blackwater, and he had been scared inside by the fires. She had been wide eyed, and he wanted to shove himself inside her for some sort of release, but he had been half mad with fear and blood drunk, and Joffrey would not thank him for deflowering his betrothed.

Not that the thick headed prick could tell the difference between and maiden and a hairy man whore.

Instead, he made her sing, and he had stayed, if only to make sure that the damned little bird didn't throw herself out a window before her wedding. He couldn't tell exactly why he stayed, but he had left and hidden in stone hallways and dark corners until he heard that the battle was over.

Now he was in the countryside, alone and with no Joffrey to order him around like his beaten dog bitch. He had money to buy passage to Braavosi, or maybe Arbor, where he could drown himself in a bathtub of Arbor red. Maybe be a sellsword, since fighting was the only thing that he loved and was good at. And everyone would hire a fighting dog to rip out their enemies' throats.

He urged Stranger down the Kingsroad, approaching a small fishing village. A little girl ran up, reaching a hand to touch his horse. Stranger bite down on where her hand had been if she hadn't pulled it back in terror. She cried and ran to hid behind the skirts of a robust woman with a bloody apron and a knife in hand. She glared at him and pointed the bloody knife at him, muttering threats he couldn't hear. He ignored the killer fish wife and aimed towards the docks. It was almost too much to hope, but a single ship, half destroyed from some autumn storm was moored at the dock.

He approached a man carrying a basket of fish in his arms, his thick arms bare and dark from working under the sun.

"Where's the captain of that ship?" he nudged his head to the moored ship, bearing the name _Liz's Pride. _

The man shrugged and said "He'll be talking with someone in the docks, probably. Washed ashore a few weeks back, saying he lost half his crew in a storm."

He didn't listen to the rest of the tale, steering Stranger towards the dock.

He guessed that he man with the green forked beard would be the captain, added to the fact he was arguing with some man in a mix of the Common and Tyrosh.

"I'm looking for passage on your boat." He said gruffly, interrupting the argument. The green man frowned and crossed his arms.

"Why would I want some free loader?" he asked in a heavy Tyrosh accent. "You don't even have money to pay."

He showed him the purse of gold dragons he had from King's Landing, mostly from his last tourney win in the capital.

"I'll pay when we get to Braavosi." He told the man "I just need to leave as fast as possible."

Green glared pointedly at the man he had been arguing with previously and said "He won't repair my ship because he only does coin, not spices and silks. I never reached King's Landing, how do I have coin?"

The Hound spilled some coin in his fingers and said "I'll pay repairs for free passage. Deal?"

Green turned and looked him over.

"Who are you?" he demanded, fingering his green beard. He glowered at the man and said "What does my name have to do with fixing the damn ship? Get it sea worthy and onto water or I leave and leave you with your spices and silks."

He turned to leave, but Green held up his hands and said "Fine. You pay repairs, you reach Braavosi."

He nodded and smirked, knowing how gruesome it looked with his burns. He hoped it scared the Tyrosh captain.

**So, some povs you don't see every day. If Jeyne was out of character, sorry. Thought that they would need a leader and Jeyne would step in a little as an awesome person. She'll still be shy, don't freak. This will probably be the last you hear from the Hound, so sorry. If you don't like him leaving, I can arrange some things and he can stick around longer. And Arya, I love you, you are awesome, I want you to make it to Riverrun, but Riverrun might not be in friendly hands when you get there.**

**Peace out my friends, hope you enjoyed. If you have questions or want a specific character you want to see (I have a request for some Jon Snow), just tell me and I'll try my best. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Okay, big opener right now. I know what I want, not really, but I want your opinion. A guest asked for a Robb/Margaery (Robbaery?) and I don't know if you want one. So, I'll ask you to send answers by review if you want a Robbaery or not. **

**Also, there was a slight mix up with Arya's point of view, which came out sort of wrong. She's talking about Robb when she says "They weren't close, but he was still her brother" I meant to put Jon instead of Robb, but I didn't spot it till it was posted.**

**Just to clear up a little confusion.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire. But you knew that already.**

**JON POV**

"Come on Jon."

"I can't rest now. Someone needs to guard the Wall."

"Jon, you won't be helping us if you fall asleep in the middle of a battle and fall off your precious wall."

"I can't sleep, alright!"

Sam stopped arguing and Jon felt relieved. His head was sore from the constant arguing.

"Just for a few hours." Sam said. Jon withheld a groan.

It had been going on for hours. Sam wasn't the loud arguing person like Theon, or debating like Robb, or demanding and screeching like Arya, which Jon would have found strange anyway. He just stressed his points till Jon wanted to bash his own head against a wall.

Sam remained standing, and he steeled himself like he was going to do something painful.

"You think your brother would want to see you like this?"

It felt like he just stabbed him in the gut. He slammed his eyes shut and breathed deeply through his nose. Sam had no right to bring that up, he wanted no one to mention his brother. He can talk about his own brother or sisters, but he couldn't bring up Robb, or Arya, or anyone he left behind.

Sam continued "You want to help Robb, you got to rest so you can go fight the wildlings and the… the, the Others. If we let them through the Wall, then everyone south will die, including your brother."

Jon wanted to bash his head against a wall. He felt his resolve weakening, and added with the pure exhaustion that was weighing on his shoulders, he slumped and said "Fine. First sign of an attack, even if it's as soon as I walk out this door, you will come find me. Immediately."

Sam nodded and he stood up, and he could feel people glancing at him sideways as he left the room, and shivered as he shut the door behind him.

He trudged to his room, Ghost padding alone silently at his heels. The direwolf had grown massive in the past moons, and he wondered if the others were seeing their direwolves, and marveling at how much they had grown and how big they were.

When he reached his room, he collapsed on the furs and before he could even think, his eyes were closed and he was sleeping.

_He was in the halls of Winterfell, where he had grown up and played with his brothers and sisters. But it was dark, and quiet, and cold like it never should be. The hot springs should have kept it warm, but the stone felt like it was made of ice. _

_He wandered around, calling out for someone, anyone. He heard soft crying in a room, Bran's room. He entered and felt something in his heart crumble to pieces._

_Catelyn Stark, her throat slit and her hair white and brittle, was sobbing over Bran's body like he had seen her before he left. Bran was cold and pale and still, not breathing, he looked broken._

_"It should have been you." Catelyn said in a hiss, and he turned to leave when he saw another Catelyn Stark, this one sobbing over Rickon's broken body. She stood, her eyes glowing like red hot coals._

_"It should have been you."_

_He spun around and felt like a giant had crushed him underfoot. Arya was quiet and still, in a little dress she would only be forced into if she was dead. Yet another Catelyn Stark was bent over her sobbing, tears trailing down her white, puffy skin. Jon ran, but he could hear her words over his pounding heart._

_"It should have been you."_

_He wished it had been him. Arya, his little sister, Arya Underfoot. She looked younger, but her skin was drawn tight, and she was still, cold and pale._

_He turned again and saw Sansa, her red hair spread out, like a living flame to her pale skin and dead eyes staring at him. Catelyn stood, in all her grief and glory, and she hissed like a snake "It should have been you."_

_He feared to turn around now, but he couldn't stay and watch Catelyn and Sansa. He turned and saw Robb, but he was thrashing in pain, fevered and delirious and dying. Catelyn was nowhere in sight, and he ran to Robb._

_"Robb, Robb, come on Robb, breath." He said. Robb was taking fast sharp gasps, and he saw the quarrel wounds and whip lashes and beatings. His blue eyes turned on him, begging for help, pleading in a way he had never seen Robb in life. Then he stopped breathing and was still._

_"Robb." He shook his shoulder hard, but his head flopped and his eyes remained on him, frozen and hard like ice._

_He smelt something bitter and he turned to see Catelyn Stark behind him, a noose in her hands and she had bloody tears streaming from her eyes._

_"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" She screeched and there was burning and pain and black hands, cold eyes like ice._

_Then his family was around him, with pale faces, black hands and eyes of brilliant blue. _

_"Save me Jon." He heard them whisper, until they were shouts. "Save us Jon, save us Jon, SAVE US JON!"_

_"I can't." he pleaded, but they were shaking him, screaming at him, and he was looking at Arya and Robb and-_

"Come on Jon, wake up." Sam was there, shaking his shoulder. He shot awake and reached for Longclaw over his shoulder, but it wasn't there. The blade rested beside him, and Sam frowned.

"You alright?" he asked.

Jon gasped for breath and felt his throat, where cold hands had cut off his air. He nodded and wheezed "It should have been me."

Sam frowned again and asked "What are you talking about Jon? The wildlings are getting closer, come on."

He shivered at Arya's dead body, Robb's dead eyes, his little brothers, Sansa, and shuddered. What the seven hells happened to Catelyn Stark?

**LEAGUES SOUTH, IN THE SHADOW OF NIGHT…**

The boy was only sixteen, barely a man, the farmer noted faintly. But the boy was still taller than him, and thicker in arm that showed moons of hard work.

He raised his torch and jabbed the pitchfork in his direction.

"Who the hell are you? What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. The boy straightened his shoulders, his black coal hair falling into his eyes.

"I'm Gendry. Please, can we just stay here for the night?"

He narrowed his eyes at the boy, but he didn't have weapons. But he might have friends hidden somewhere, with knives to slit his throat.

"I don't need some stranglers here, get out of my stable!" he shouted, jabbing the weapon in the boy's direction. The boy frowned at him and said "We'll be gone before first light, we've been traveling for several days. I need to rest."

The farmer frowned at him and demanded "Who is this we? You got a little friend in there to slit my throat as soon as my back is turned."

Gendry opened his mouth to say something, but something hissed behind him, wrapped in shadows.

The farmer stepped around the boy and the torchlight shed light onto whoever was behind the boy.

They were wrapped in a thick woolen cloak, and he saw wrinkled, dirty fingers. The hand pulled back into the sleeves as if burnt, but he knew what he saw.

"This your grandmother boy?" he asked, and Gendry grabbed the pitchfork before he could jab the old bat.

The hand, wrinkled and leathery like a rotten apple, appeared from the folds of the black cloak, and there were several gold dragons in the small palm. His eyes widened and he stepped back from the lady.

"What's this about? Boy, talk." He demanded. Gendry looked to the old bat, and said "We'll pay for the night. Three dragons if you let us sleep here tonight. We won't steal anything, promise."

The gold coins clinked, glowing brilliant gold in the firelight. He licked his lips. He had never even seen a gold dragon before, and he bet no one around here ever had either. He could buy a new horse with not even one dragon, maybe he could actually leave this damn farm for a village before they were pillaged by some soldiers.

He swooped in and reached for the coins, but the hand flew shut, boney fingers like bars around the treasure.

"Let us stay, we'll pay in the morning." Gendry said, and he wondered somewhere in his mind why the crone wouldn't talk.

He grumbled "Fine, but if you aren't gone by first light and there are no coins here when you vanish, well, maybe some Lannisters will like to know where you were."

Gendry nodded and he backed away from them warily, pitchfork and torch in the same hand. He shut the doors as soon as he was across.

He went back to his house, leaving them in the small stable for his two horses.

His daughter and son were waiting for him, wide eyed and fearful.

"Who was out there?" she asked quietly, tugging on her skirt.

The farmer decided against telling his children and said "Nothing, just the horses acting up. Probably smelled wolves nearby or something. Come on, off to bed."

His daughter marched dutifully to her bed, curling up under the blankets.

"If they were just acting up, why were you in there for so long?" his son demanded, crossing his arms. The farmer frowned at his son and said "wouldn't settle down, so I watered them. Get to bed, long day tomorrow."

His son grumbled, but followed his sister to the blankets, but he watched him accusingly, as if he could smell the lie he told them. He turned back to the window and stared at the stable for a moment before blowing the torch out, and the house was engulfed in darkness.

**MARGAERY POV**

It seemed fitting for Joffrey to have a more extravagant funeral than his wedding.

She wore a black dress and a veil over her hair. The sky was slate grey, the world seemed black and white, as if drained of color when the king had died.

They carried his body to the sept on the backs of the Kingsguard that failed to save his life. They wore white, but edged their capes in black for the dead king. Margaery followed after them, still his wife if only for a few hours. Cersei walked beside her, hauntingly beautiful in her grief. Her golden hair was loose and down, her eyes hammocked by shadows as dark as her dress. The rest of the court trailed behind the two women, heads bowed as the bells tolled, crying with the death of the king on the Iron Throne.

The sight of his dark face, eyes large and fearful as he took whispered breathes caused her more night terrors then she would have thought. She did not love the boy, or really know him. He had beat her, tormented her, and she had been planning to kill him if it was poison in the flask that Grandmother gifted her. Yet she sobbed in her rooms as soon as she was out of sight from the court, much to her brother's discomfort and dismay.

She put on her mask for the people, fixed it in place with her fear of the future. She may be queen in name, but her good mother gave the commands and ruled the Red Keep, while Margaery sewed with her ladies. She feared what the queen would do with her after her blinding grief had abated, and the cold, calculating mind of a courtly woman returned.

She glanced back at the court trailing behind her, amazed at the massed people that mourned the king's death. They might only be there for show, but Joffrey was dead. He could not harm them unless he came with the Stranger to kill them all where they stood.

She saw her brother and her father and mother, cloaked in black, but more worried about what would happen to them rather than saddened by the king's passing. The Lannister side of the family was only Tywin Lannister and Cersei, with the infamous Kingslayer loose in the Riverlands somewhere.

The Imp was imprisoned, much to Margaery's surprise. She knew he hated the king, but didn't think he would actually murder the boy at his wedding. She did not think that Tyrion would actually become a kinslayer, but Cersei seemed determined to prove that the dwarf was the one who murdered the king.

They approached the sept, and the Kingsguard carried the dead king inside, amidst the septas and septons. The sept was alit with many candle, and Joffrey was lain among the candles, the golden armor he was to be buried in glowing like a beacon amongst the candles. The sweet smell of vanilla did not mask the stench of death that hung in the air. Cersei knelt by her son's side, not crying, almost too grief stricken for tears. Margaery knelt beside her and studied the king's face.

Joffrey's hair had been brushed and gleamed like gold, his eyes closed and he was pale and there was something dark and cold that hung around him, more intimidating then he had been in life. His hands were around his sword, stiff fingers clasping the hilt that laid across his chest. His neck was hidden, where Margaery knew were long scars where he had clawed at his throat, desperate to breathe, to live, fighting to free whatever had obstructed his throat.

Maester Pycelle had cut open his throat as well, and confirmed Cersei's belief that it was indeed poison that had killed Joffrey. Margaery knew the words to be true, knew it before the Grand Maester had stated the words so boldly. That was why the Imp was in chains, set to be tried before the court for his crimes.

Now, Margaery closed her eyes and prayed that the king be sent to the deepest and vilest of hells. He had caused much pain and made the realm bleed deeply, harmed his people and was a vicious, cruel idiot. The Septons led them in song and prayers for the Father to take their good king in hand and take him to his hall.

Poor little Tommen, Joffrey's little brother, sniffled where he kneeled beside his mother, tears streaked his face. She could relate. He had lost his sister to the Dornish, his father was dead, his mother was distant with him, and now his brother was dead. She smiled at him softly, hoping to comfort the poor boy. He smiled back shyly, and looked down when his mother caught his smile and hissed something in his ear, probably insulting to her person.

She lost herself in her thoughts, kneeling before the corpse of her dead husband. She ignored the deathly sweet smell of his decomposing skin, replaced it with the sweet smell of roses. She imagined herself back in Highgarden, before war had taken her far from the palace of roses and music and beauty that she loved with all her heart. She imagined twirling in the hall in the arms of a faceless man, laughing and riding with her brothers and walking through the gardens with the same faceless man. He offered her a rose and she blushed and smiled at him.

Soon, dusk fell, and the candles were the only light in the sept. The moon, a flat silver disk in the sky, rose in the deep blue sky and she could watch it progress across the sky from her vantage point by the large, airy window.

Her brother shook her shoulder, her older brother Garlan. He smiled at her softly and helped her rise on stiff knees.

"Thank you Garlan." She said, and brushed off her fine black skirts. She turned to her good mother and asked "Will you come back to the castle for the night my lady?"

Cersei glowered at her and said "I will keep vigil by my eldest son's side. You may take Tommen back with you, he is falling asleep anyhow."

The small young boy was indeed drowsy when she shook his shoulder and he stumbled to his feet and she escorted him to the litter waiting to take them back to the Red Keep. She smiled and took the offered cup of wine from one of the servants, and her brother rode back on one of Willas's horses. She waved to her brother and climbed into the litter.

They arrived at the Red Keep in no time, just as full darkness fell on them. She took the offered hand and let herself be helped down from the litter. She smiled at the servant, a golden haired youth with a red lion sewed into his brown tunic. He smiled back and bowed to her.

She was taken to her rooms and left there with a hot bath and some more candles already lit. She stripped off her gown and bathed quickly, letting the heat of the water seep into her stiff muscles. She pulled on a sleeping shift and crawled under the soft silk blankets, and fell uneasily to sleep.

**Well, nothing much happened here. More of a filler chapter. As for the possible Robbaery, I need as many peoples' opinions as possible in the next three days. This one was short, but the action is building.**

**Oh, I want to just right a ten thousand word chapter and just get my favorite part on paper. But I can't because then I would feel obligated to write all my chapters like that, and that would just be, ugh. I couldn't handle that. **

**So yeah, input necessary. Would really appreciate. Also, thanks go to the two guest reviewers, Incognito.15 and the Dark Lord Potter and those who went unnamed. I love you all, you are so awesome.**

**Review quickly, I got many things planned. HA HA HA! **


	25. Chapter 25

**Alright, with the votes like, six to two, it appeared that this story would be a Robbaery.**

**But, I come with a compromise. I have another story, this one a total Robbaery, called Heart of a Wolf. I am going on record now that this story will not be a Robbaery. I am so sorry about this voters and Robbaery fans, that I disappointed you. I hope you don't hate me, but it was for the best. To get Robbaery, I would have to kill Jeyne in the escape from Riverrun. I couldn't do that. My inner fan wouldn't let me. I hope you continue to enjoy this story as it continues, but if you are mad at me, I can't say I understand, but I do hate doing this to you. I love you all, you are all amazing, awesome people.**

**But this is the direction I am choosing. Thanks for the input and sorry for everything.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire.**

**ROBB POV**

He didn't know if it was the winter air or the fever raging through him, but the chill was seeping into his bones, like ice instead of blood was running through his veins.

He shivered again, tugging his thin, patched and frayed cloak tighter around himself, but it did little to stave off the cold. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his soaked hair sticking to his skin. His teeth were starting to chatter slightly, and he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers or his toes.

The day had been warmer then was usual with the looming winter hanging overhead. Warm sun, warm breezes, as if winter was still a long way in the future, but he could feel the cold gathering inside him, until his mind was fogged with cold damp mists.

He blinked stars from his eyes, wishing that whatever fate that the old gods had in mind for him would just play out and he would stop suffering. Sansa glanced back often, and Arya twice as much, a scowl almost melded onto her face. He knew something had passed between them, and now they worried ore for him then reaching Riverrun quickly. Grey Wind had started treating him like a small blind pup, bringing him food he caught and watching him to make sure he stuffed every bite down his throat.

He had lost his appetite long ago days past and ate little now. He was already thin, he could count his ribs underneath his black and blue skin if he wanted, and the number of wounds scattered over his body stood out in sharp relief against his bony frame.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't feel the hand tugging on his cloak, or touch his icy cold hand.

"His fever's getting worse." He heard a voice say distantly, an echo in the fog. He couldn't tell if it was Arya, or Sansa, or his mother or even Jon. He thought he saw Joffrey leering over him, his eyes alit with blood madness, but he didn't mention it to anyone.

He felt himself moving, off his horse and laying on the ground, the sun glowing as distant as a star as the world flickered black and dark before his eyes.

He tossed his head as he felt cold water trickle onto his lips. No, nothing cold, he was too cold already. He didn't want it.

"Please Robb, you have to drink. You have to have something." He heard a faint voice pleading. He turned his head towards the voice and caught a flash of red hair in the heavy, thick white mist.

"Sansa." He whispered, his voice scratchy and weak in his ears. He was sinking into the fog, and he felt a cool hand on his overheated forehead, and he relished the feeling. He leaned into the hand as much as he could, and he couldn't stop the moan from escaping his lips.

"He's delirious, the fever is getting worse. He needs a maester now." He heard another voice, even quieter then the first. He ignored the vices, their words mad no sense anyway. He saw a golden lion with eyes like green grass emerge from the mist, laughing in Joffrey's high girly voice.

"Kill him mother, I want to kill him." The lion said in his high voice, sounding odd and unnatural coming from the lion's mouth.

A silver direwolf appeared from nowhere, eyes of river blue, fur shiny like fish scales. She sank her claws in the back of the lion, but the lion threw her off and she hit the ground hard. Grey towers rose from them mist, like bars of a cage around the wolf. A man in a blood stained pink hood over his face approached and held the wolf's head back, revealing the vulnerable throat.

"No, no, don't." he tossed his head back and forth, as if to free the head of the silver wolf. "No, you can't. Don't."

"Robb, go, run!" his mother's voice made his heart jolt painfully and he withheld a shaking sob. The lion pulled back a paw and his silver claws slimed open the direwolf's throat. He screamed and writhed, like the direwolf as ruby blood spilled from the wound, a river of red and it pooled around his feet.

"No, no, NO!" he screamed, and the direwolf was gone, replaced with his mother's dying body, the light in her eyes fading.

"I'll kill them, I'll kill them all!" he shouted, struggling to move towards his mother. The mist was like chains holding him, and he could only struggle and watch.

"Robb…" his mother's hand reached towards him weakly, before it thudded to the ground and the light left her eyes."

|Robb, stop! Relax, you're alright." the voice was a faint whisper, a breath of air in his ear. He thrashed again, but the thick tendrils of smoke and mist were snaking around his arms, binding him, dragging him deep into their folds where he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't move in the pearly vapor.

Then he felt his mind slipping, falling away into another place. Another mind with another set of eyes to see form…

_He was lying on his stomach, his side pillowing his companion's head as he gasped and choked for breath. A thin reedy noise, a whisper of air was all he could manage. He was choking to death on air._

_He nudged the head as it turned weakly towards him, his neck loose and muscles too weak to hold it steady. Meanwhile, it was as if his body was possessed by a demon. It thrashed and flailed, struggling to free itself from invisible bonds. He looked at the face of the boy, scraped and thin and open eyes glassy and unseeing. Like dead eyes after he killed his prey._

_The small human girl kneeled by his side, the one with the muddy dark hair and the living wolf sister shook his shoulders and said "He's not breathing. Sansa, what do we do?"_

_The older girl with hair like fire pushed loose strands from her face and said "I don't, I don't know. He might, he might be ready to die."_

_The little girl growled like a wolf, her lip curling back as she hissed "I won't give up on him. I won't we can't let him die Sansa, he's our brother."  
She shook his shoulders again, and his head flopped like a dead fish. His eyes rolled back into his head, the brilliant river blue almost gone._

_"Robb, wake up. Please Robb, we need you."_

_The fire haired girl looked to him immediately. She locked eyes with him and he read the message that she wouldn't dare speak out loud._

_"I know you're in there."_

_He lost his control, and the wolf took command of his movements. He turned on his hand, splinted with twigs and strips of cloth from the hem of his trousers. He took the hand gently in his teeth and bit down enough for the tips of his teeth to dig into the skin._

_There was a blinding bolt of pain that lanced through him to his core, and he was flying, ripped away and soaring through darkness…_

He blinked and groaned, his broken fingers in Grey Wind's teeth dropping to the ground immediately. He tried to look the direwolf in the eye, but his eyes skipped around out of his control.

Arya threw her arms around his neck, and he felts streaks of tears on his shoulder. She realized what she was doing and pulled away, punching him in the forearm.

"Don't you ever do that again or I swear, I'll set Nymeria on you." She said angrily, but under the threat he knew she was relieved.

Sansa wiped a tear from her cheek and said "You were dying Robb. You heart was barely beating, you weren't breathing."

He blinked and tried to focus on Sansa's face. Grey Wind nudged his head again, licked his ear like a little pup and he ruffled his fur with a weak hand.

Nymeria was beside Arya, her eyes watching him with relief, as if sensing Arya's relief that he was still breathing.

With Sansa's help and Grey Wind supporting his weight, he sat up with the direwolf pressed against his back.

"How long, what happened?" he asked. His mind was looping in circle, making it hard for him to get his thoughts straight. He barely remembered anything. There had been a nightmare, he knew that much, but it was fuzzy and dark and he could bring no image to mind.

Sansa said nothing, offering him the water skin and he took a swallow. The cold water only chilled him to the bone.

"Come on, we're close to Riverrun. Maybe half a day's ride. We'll lash to the saddle if we have to." Arya said.

"They did end up tying him to the saddle, his body so weak that it was a struggle to stay sitting up on his own. He forced his eyes open, not willing to sink into the cold wet mist that clung like a second skin to his mind. His mind felt in a haze, not thinking or able to understand anything. It wasn't the mist, but it was like a waking sleep.

He could barely string his thoughts together, but one thing was clear enough to send a shiver down his spine.

He was getting weaker, and he needed help soon. Or it might be too late.

**JEYNE POV**

_Three days previous…_

They escaped under the heavy cloak of darkness, Edmure Tully, Roslin and two other lords, including the Greatjon. The Blackfish refused to leave, saying he would defend the keep for them. She could tell by Edmure's dark face that he was unhappy leaving his castle, but she also knew that he understood that it was necessary. And it made him bitter.

Catelyn Stark had handled her little brother well, stroking his ego and making him feel important like he wanted. Jeyne had no time to pick her way through that battlefield, so she stormed, making him accept her point. The ferocity that she had possessed had scared her.

The Lannister camp was aglow with red and gold and firelight, the shadows of watching men dancing along the hills. The river roared as it rushed by, a current of rolling, seething water. The winds were strong that day, and the sound of the river masked their feet on stone.

They took the secret entrance that Edmure had led Roslin and Robb and Greatjon Umber through as they had returned. As she slipped inside the tunnel, she whispered too softly for the others to hear.

"Robb, forgive me."

She felt her heart aching for abandoning him. She only prayed that this plan would prove folly and that the Blackfish would hold Riverrun till Robb returned and they would return from Seagard and she would kiss him and promise to never let him leave her side again.

The sky was dark, the moon only a sliver in the sky to light their way. As they passed through the tunnel, the only sound their breathing and the water sloshing around their ankles. Jeyne couldn't help but wonder where Robb was now. She knew he had taken his sister Sansa with him from King's Landing. He had never spoken much of his family, with his brothers burnt, and the bastard on the Wall and his sisters lost or in enemy hands, it was a bad thing to bring up.

Soon, they were in open air, and it felt oddly liberating to be out of Riverrun. She took a deep breath of air, and tugged Robb's cloak tighter around her shoulders. Greatjon went to her side and said "Come on Your Grace, we have to move before the Lannisters find out that we escaped."

Jeyne nodded and they ran under the cover of darkness. They made it out of sight of the walls before there were shouts and bobbing torches heading towards them.

"Run." The Greatjon hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her along, her feet stumbling as she tried to keep up with his long strides. Roslin ahead of her was running as fast as she could, and Jeyne thanked the gods that the Blackfish had them wear trousers and not dresses.

Soon, shouts drifted over. Greatjon cursed under his breath, and said "Protect the queen. Tully, take her ahead, GO!"

Edmure grabbed her arm and pulled her along. Greatjon Umber faced the six men on horseback. He pulled the ax from the folds of his cloak and roared, striking one man in the head, cleaving it in half. Jeyne felt her stomach twist at the sight and she swallowed the sting of bile that tickled at her throat. She tore her eyes from the blood of the man pooling underneath his corpse and turned forward, running as fast as she could with Roslin and Edmure before her.

Greatjon roared again, and some part of her mind not stricken with panic wondered if they could hear him all the way back at the camps, or if they would only stumble on their corpses in the morning.

"Come on Jeyne, you have to run faster." Roslin urged from ahead of her. She nodded, gasping for breath already. She couldn't imagine walking all night, or running if the Lannisters brought back with them more men.

Then, she heard the sound of horses and Greatjon's hoarse whisper "Get on the horses and ride as fast as you can northwest."

He brought her a horse, and she saw the dead rider's blood staining his saddle. She shivered and mounted the horse, ignored the warm wetness the spread across her trousers at her knee and she urged the horse faster onwards, following the group of men on horseback and Roslin who looked as uncomfortable in a saddle as she did. She ignored the bouncing in the saddle and the pain that was already starting to build in her thighs and small of her back as she and the others rode hard for the sea.

_Three days later…_

Seagard was a small keep, but it was strong enough to last under siege for a week at least the captain of their boat, a man called Cail, had taken them straight to Seagard, keeping close eyes on the Iron Islands that lay in the west. Jeyne had not forgotten how Theon Greyjoy, an Iron Islander, had betrayed her husband after ten years of friendship. She had no trust for the Iron born, and it seemed the Mallisters shared her qualms.

They had landed at night, under black sails and a silence as if afraid to wake the town. They were taken immediately to the keep and met with Lord Jason Mallister.

He was a fierce looking man, with brown hair specked with white and fierce eyes that seemed to see straight inside you. He wore a purple cloak about his shoulders and a dark purple tunic with the silver eagle on his breast, the sigil of his house. He studied her with hard eyes, bluish green like the sea outside.

"What has brought the Queen in the North to my keep?" he asked her, watching her like a hawk.

She curtsied to the Lord Mallister and said "Lord Mallister, I am sorry to bring danger onto you and your people with my presence, but there was nowhere else we could go with so little time at hand."

Lord Mallister stood straighter and said "Where is it that you flee to that you would not trust even to a raven? I will have my men escort you there as soon as it is safe enough."

Jeyne curtsied again and said "Thank you my lord."

Jason waved his hand and a servant stepped forward "my servant will take you to your rooms for the night. I request an audience with the Queen in the North in the morn."

Jeyne felt nervousness roll in her stomach, much as it had on the ship when the deck beneath her feet rolled and rose and fell with the waves.

"I would be honored, Lord Mallister." She said and let the serving man lead her out of the hall, amidst the banners of House Mallister.

Greatjon nodded to Jason, who nodded back and the heavy doors closed behind them.

After a warm meal and a warmer bath, Jeyne felt herself feel almost born anew, the dirt and grime of three days hard travel gone and leaving her fresh and clean.

She turned to the sea and whispered across the water "I hope you're alright Robb."

**SANSA POV**

They approached Riverrun around the time that Arya said they would, maybe half a day's ride from where Robb had nearly died.

The sight of him gasping and her helpless to do anything had made a coil of steel curl around her stomach, tight and cold and wrapping tighter and tighter until she felt like she would scream with the pain.

Robb was tied to the saddle, blank faced and distant, half asleep as he was. She had no idea what had made his state of health fall so far. He was shivering and refused water and food and the look of almost pleasure at Robb's suffering was enough to make her behave like Arya and rage at him and maybe even smack him.

They approached Riverrun, and Sansa couldn't help the small bubble of hope that floated in her chest. They were so close. They would be safe inside that castle, around friends and family. She didn't remember what it felt like to be safe. She would meet her uncle for the first time, and Robb could see the maester there and he would help them and they would go back to Winterfell. They could go home.

But now, they needed to reach Riverrun first. Sansa approached slowly, every beat of Queen's hoof three beats of her racing heart. The Lannister siege camp was near the castle, which meant Lannisters could be anywhere.

"Come on Robb, just a little longer, and then you can rest." She whispered. Robb grunted, but that was all the reaction he could muster. Her heart ached for her brother, but weeping over him would get him no help. Sansa wondered faintly if she was the same person she was who left Winterfell what felt like a lifetime ago.

Arya kept Edwyn along in line, the wolves watching him with hard eyes. He hadn't attempted an escape after trying to stab Robb late in the night, and Sansa was relieved. One less worry on her already overburdened mind.

Soon the castle was in sight, along with the massive encampment of red and cold banners and tents and men and the sound of talking and laughing and celebrating.

There couldn't be laughter unless…

She dared to glance up to the battlements, where instead of a Tully flag or the Stark direwolf, a red banner with a golden lion flapped in the wind. Her heart sunk and crashed to the ground and smashed to splinters. No, they couldn't have.

Sansa imagined Joffrey's sneering face, laughing as she realized his forces had taken the only hope of life for Robb.

"Curse you." She muttered. She heard another shout and looked to where it had come from. A man, wearing chain mail and a sword at his hip, was pointing in her direction. He was shouting, for men, and Sansa steered Queen around.

As soon as she returned to where Robb and Arya were waiting following behind more slowly, she said "Riverrun's been taken over by Lannisters. Men coming this way, we have to ride."

Arya narrowed her eyes and looked more like a wolf in that moment then Sansa had ever seen her before. She flicked the reins of the horse her and Robb shared, dragging Edwyn's reins along with her.

Robb shifted and come thought seemed to have registered in his mind.

"Leave him…faster." He murmured softly, and Arya didn't even pause to think over what Robb said. She dropped Edwyn's reins and they rode their two horses the only direction Sansa could think of to escape. North.

Soon, shouts of Lannister men caught up with them. She dared to glance back and swallowed. Several Lannisters, maybe twelve, were riding after them, shouting for them to stop. Grey Wind and Nymeria growled at the men, and Sansa sent them after the men.

"Go, save us!" she shouted over the sound of her pounding heart. The direwolves turned on their pursuers, some carrying crossbows and others swords and spears.

"Gods, it's the bloody King in the North. Him and his demon wolves! Kill them!" someone shouted and Arya curses heavily.

"Ride faster!" Arya shouted, urging their horse on faster. Robb seemed to have regained his senses, and he took the reins from Arya and the horse seemed to have doubled in speed. Sansa ignored the throbbing pain in her backside and forced Queen to ride faster. The thrum of crossbow bolts echoed behind them, one flew close enough to stir her hair around her face. Another landed in the ground half a foot from Queen's flank. Then there was the sound of screaming and tearing and growling wolves.

Sansa didn't dare to glance back at the carnage behind her, only shouted "Ride Arya, ride!"

The reins slipped through Robb's fingers and Arya took them from his hand, and she flicked them hard and the horse gained speed. They left the Lannister party to the two direwolves, and Sansa could almost feel the fear the horse felt at the scent of thick blood in the air, and she skittered at the scent of wolves still.

Soon, they were far from the Lannisters and Riverrun, their only hope of safety. Sansa slowed Queen to a slow trot, and her flanks were heaving. Arya's horse was even worse, and Sansa worried that it would fall over and die from exhaustion.

They had followed the Red Fork down the Trident, and Sansa couldn't tell how far they had traveled. She dismounted, her legs aching and sore from riding so hard, so fast.

Arya jumped down and fell to the ground, her legs shaking. Sansa felt sick with fear and worry, and she also sat on the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Before she could truly let the shock abate and the hopelessness of the situation set in, Robb fumbled clumsily at the saddle, freeing himself from the bindings holding him place. With nothing to hold him up, he fell from the saddle onto the grass, and Sansa got a full view of the crossbow bolt imbedded in his shoulder. She brought an image of Arya sitting in front of Robb. If he hadn't been moved in the way, the bolt would have gone through Arya's head, killing her instantly.

"Robb!" she shouted, running to his side. He lay there panting heavily. The pain seemed to have cleared the fog from his eyes, giving him clarity.

Arya reached for the bolt, as if to remove it, but Robb stopped her. "Don't, leave it… in until we find a… a maester."

Arya's hand froze and she asked "What do we do then? You have to know something."  
Robb turned his head towards the river beside them and he mumbled sleepily "Cold water, could numb…not sure."

His eyes were falling closed, and she slapped his forearm.

"Stay awake Robb, you can't sleep yet." She said as softly as she could. Arya grabbed a water skin from her bag and trickled the cold water over his shoulder, and it splattered to the ground pink. Robb shivered from the cold and Arya ripped the end from her tunic, and soaked it in river water. She tied it around the quarrel wound and said "We have to keep riding. Those Lannisters won't give up so easy."

Sansa drew a breath and asked "That was easy?"

**MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE LANNISTER CAMP**

Jaime Lannister strode forward, and he couldn't help but imagine what horrible things the gods had for him now. First word that his nephew _son _was dead, now whatever this was.

The captain of the men, a man with the golden beard of a Lannisport man said "Kingslayer."

The name still made him think back to the light leaving the mad eyes of the Mad King, but he withheld the memory and asked "What has happened captain? I thought you found just some stray travelers."

The captain looked embarrassed as he said "Well, we thought them travelers at first, a boy and two girls, but then when we chased them off, wolves three times the size of the largest hound in the kennels attacked us. One of the girls was yelling for the wolves to attack, and they listened to her. One of the men, Caleb here," he gestured to one of the dead men, his throat torn out. "Recognized one of them demon wolves as the wolf that the King in the North and one of our men shot him in the shoulder."

Jaime felt a shiver pass through him. Last he had seen the Stark green boy, it had been on his knees as his prisoner. He had looked forward to having the roles switched around this time.

"And where is the Stark boy then?" he asked. The captain looked sheepish and a touch afraid.

"He uh, escaped ser. With his sisters and the wolves."

He looked down at the golden hand, frozen fingers formed in a half grip. How had so many things gone wrong after he lost one battle? Lost one hand, lost one nephew _son, _and now he lost a prisoner that could end this war.

He looked the captain steadily in the eye and said "You will scrounge up every man you can find. Send out all of them on fresh horses and find the King in the North or I swear, you will wish the wolves had killed you."

The captain jumped to the task, shouting for men to mount up and riders. Jaime curled his hand, his ghost fingers clenching into a fist.

If only he still had his sword hand, so he could remove the Stark boy's head himself.

**Well, for last chapter, thought more people would be excited about seeing Gendry alive. Oh well, whatever. Hope you enjoyed, check out my other story please. Review, review, review, I'm almost at a hundred. Triple digits, wow.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Thank you awesome people, for being awesome. Wow, lots of stuff in the last chapter. Oh, so excited for the buildup. I've been waiting for the next chapter for forever. Not this one, which is quite sad.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or song of ice and fire.**

**SANSA POV**

Sansa found her eyes drawn to the quarrel that jutted from Robb's shoulder. It was long, made of some sort of dark wood and the feathers were that of a duck, easy enough to get. The wood closest to his skin was crusted with dried blood, and every jolt made it shift a little deeper. Robb hid the pain well, behind long dark hair and bent heads and looking away and muffled groans as he bit on the cloth of his ravaged cloak.

His strength had failed him long ago, leaving him weak as one of Tommen's kittens. He could barely bring the water skin to his lips with his shaking left hand, and his other arm refused to move above his waist. A soft breeze, blew, ruffling the duck feathers and Sansa shuddered. She would be howling in pain from the quarrel, but it seemed Robb was past the pain, in his own place above the quarrel and his hunger and fever and infection and pain. They passed a farm long ago, and there had been a blanket drying from washing on the line. Arya had been like a shadow, leaping from the horse and coming back a minute later with the heavy wool blanket. They shared the blanket at night, but it was too hot for Robb. He fought it, but he was too weak to protest under Arya's sharp tongue and Sansa's logic. They compromised, draping it up to his shoulder, leaving the quarrel quivering in the air like a flag, duck feathers fluttering in the wind.

They lay under the blanket now, Robb between them and the wolves watching around them, like they were their pups and they were their parents. Grey Wind babied Robb, but Sansa was relieved someone was getting Robb to eat and drink.

She rolled over, half asleep when she came face to face with her brother. The cuts and scrapes were thrown into sharp relief, and Sansa wrinkled her nose at the smell. He hadn't bathed since before the wedding most likely, and it was noticeable.

She pulled away from him and her gaze drifted once more to the puckered red skin around the quarrel. She tore her eyes away and Robb mumbled in his sleep, about to roll onto his back. She caught his less wounded shoulder and held him back. He fell back on his stomach and his eyes half opened, glazed and heavy with sleep.

"Sleep Robb, it's still early." She whispered, and his breathing evened out again and sleep took him. Sansa looked at the sky. They had been riding hard for two days, past Seagard for sure.

"The Twins aren't far." She had told Arya the day before, and Arya nodded.

"Maybe a day's ride, more? Maybe we can sneak past, reach the Neck and Greywater Watch." Arya narrowed her eyes at the northern horizon, the sinking sun casting the sky aflame in orange.

"What about Seagard? They aren't friends with the Twins, they are Uncle Edmure's men." She had said, and Arya shook her head.

"It doesn't mean that it's safe. Its close enough for the Twins to siege and they will to get them to submit. Seagard is no."

So they traveled. Horses going all day from dawn to nearing dark. Sansa had no worries of the world outside their own. The war could be won or lost. Targaryens could have returned, Joffrey could be dead, Cersei thrown herself from a tower and she would never know. She rose sooner than usual, but they needed to pass the Twins today.

She shook Robb's arm and said "up Robb, we have to go."

Robb didn't argue, but he didn't look pleased. He stumbled to his feet, exhaustion and wounds stripping any balance from his limbs. Arya looked wide awake, and they didn't eat. They mounted their horses, Queen and the horse Arya started calling Cat, and they set off down the riverside in the direction of the Twins.

It didn't come into sight until past midday, and when it did, something cold and dark hung between Robb and them. He glowered at the two castles, his hand drifting to the quarrel wound on his chest he received at the Red Wedding. His eyes hardened and he said "We should move quickly."

Sansa couldn't agree with him more, and they set off at a fast trot, staying far from the castle as they could.

As they neared enough to see the gate, Sansa saw Lannister banners and several Frey men on horses outside the gate, watching for travelers.

"The Lannisters sent a raven to them. They saw us, they recognized me." Robb said. Arya urged Cat closer, but Sansa reached out and grabbed her hand.

"We can't get any closer, we have to pass quickly. They will pay, but not today."

Arya's face was dark and hard like Robb's. He looked half prepared to rush the Frey men and start stabbing. Grey Wind raised his hackles and Nymeria growled.

"If we go looking for a fight, we all die." Sansa pleaded "Come on, Robb's not getting better as we stand here."

Arya frowned and gave a dark sigh, but turned Cat around and back towards the Neck. Sansa felt relief. Then there was the sound of war horns and bells and charging men frantically shouting.

Sansa looked towards the Twins and the Frey men were gaining.

"The gods must hate us." Arya said bitterly.

**JEYNE POV**

She was given what comforts the castle could afford during a siege that seemed to have appeared overnight. She was fed well, treated with respect, and wore Mallister purple gowns. She kept the silver locket around her neck as she always did. She would never part with it.

She touched it fondly, the direwolf frozen lip curled and teeth flashing.

_"Close your eyes."_

_Jeyne closed her eyes as he said and felt something cool and smooth at her throat. His fingers brushed the back of her neck, making hair stand on end and her skin prickle. _

_"Now open your eyes."_

_Jeyne looked down and gasped. The locket was small, maybe as long as her thumb and two fingers thick. It was made of cool silver, unblemished and perfect. The direwolf of Robb's house _her house _snarled, tiny blue sapphires for eyes._

_She turned around and Robb's face was smiling and hopeful. She kissed him full on the lips, relishing the feeling of his mouth on hers. He pulled away too quickly for her liking and asked "Do you like it?"_

_She touched the locket and smiled. "It's beautiful Robb, I love it."_

_He brushed a curl of her hair behind her ear and cupped her face._

_"You're a Stark now, and you need a direwolf to protect you. Grey Wind's always with me, so I found one for you."_

_She smiled softly at him and he continued "It will help you remember me when I'm gone to fight."_

_She stroked his cheek, smooth shaven, and marveled at how handsome he looked happy and smiling._

_"Nothing could make me forget you." She told him, and kissed him again._

The intimate moment had been one of the last she had shared with him, and the memory was bittersweet to taste. She touched the direwolf. Robb's direwolf had protected her, on the ride to the sea and on the ship to Seagard, and soon it would protect her on her journey north, to Greywater Watch. She wondered faintly if Grey Wind was with Robb somewhere, or lost in the woods, or dead in a stream. She hoped he was with Robb, he would protect him as her direwolf did.

There was a knock at her door and Jeyne turned around.

A maid opened the door and said "Your Grace, Lord Mallister requests to see you."

Lord Jason Mallister had been seeing her every morning of the past two days, and they had talked long into the day.

The first meeting had her nervous. The severe, fierce looking man was a warrior and a lord, and he carried himself with a dignity that she herself still looked for. He had reminded her faintly of the Blackfish, who carried himself much the same way. The news of Riverrun's capture had turned the Twins force on them, and with them so close the siege would not end soon. Lord Mallister had shared all the news he had to share, of Joffrey's death and Margaery's now struggle for power with Cersei Lannister. No one dared call her Baratheon, as was her wedded house, for she was as Baratheon as Robb was a Lannister. He told of the gathering of the remains of their army in houses still with the King in the North, and it gratified her to hear how most houses had stayed pledged to Robb's _her _house.

She stepped inside the hall where they always spoke, with as much poise and queenliness as she could. She never understood how Robb looked a king half the time and he never even tried.

Lord Mallister and the lords of the north and Riverlands that she had brought with her stood and bowed to her, and Jeyne wished now more than ever that she had retained her crown so she would feel less a fool.

"My lords." She greeted and they sat. The mantle of leadership was shared between the lords and herself until Robb returned. She shared only part of the weight and not for very long, but she was already struggling. She understood now why Robb kept odd hours and was asleep near every morn when she awoke and why he was tired and sometimes he had been even angry. Never at her, but she could see his frustration as he paced their bedchamber late at night and she wanted nothing but to help him.

"News has reached us from Riverrun. It seems that Lannister scouts found the King in the North near Riverrun and chased him away. They shot him with a quarrel but he escaped. Himself and two young girls." Lord Jason said. Jeyne felt her heart sink to the stone floor at her feet. If they had stayed three days, Robb would have returned to a safe castle. She could have seen him, held him in her arms, kept him safe to heal.

None of the lords looked to her, and one of the lords said "One of those girls was Sansa Stark, as she escaped King's Landing with His Grace."

Greatjon scratched his beard and asked "Well then, who's the other?"  
Jeyne felt something in her memory, at the mention of the second girl.

"Robb has two sisters. One must be Sansa, the other Arya!" she looked around at the lords.

"Arya Stark has been missing since Lord Eddard's capture and arrest in King's Landing." Jason Mallister said. Jeyne shook her head and said "No one's found her body, no one has proof she's dead. Why else would they travel with another little girl?"

The lords' doubtful glances to each other told her that they did not believe her, but Jason Mallister said "It may be that Your Grace."

She knew they didn't believe her, but she also knew she wasn't wrong. So she would wait to prove them wrong.

"What other news has happened Lord Mallister?" she asked.

Jason unrolled a roll of parchment and said "Lord Reed awaits your arrival at the Neck. He has his crannogmen waiting for your ship in two days' time. Enough to prepare and send her Grace to Greywater Watch."

Greatjon laughed and said "The Queen in the North sees the North for the first time. And the furthest thing north as you can get."

Jeyne felt heat rise to her face, but she continued "How many ships do you have for us?"  
Jason replied "Three. Your ship and two escorts to see you there. They will return once you are with the crannogmen and safely with them. Iron born lurk in the waters like snakes, and they wouldn't hesitate to rape you, slit your throat, spit on you and keep your head to hang on their ship." Jason said the final part with bitter distaste in his mouth. He had no trust with Iron born, and with the Greyjoy attack and burning of Winterfell, his little respect for iron born and dissolved into sea water.

Jeyne nodded and said "I shall be safe under your protection my lord."

The fearsome Lord of Seagard nodded, but batted the compliment aside like a fly.

"We should have you ready to leave by tomorrow, noon at the latest. Under darkness would be best. Freys haven't seen a ship before in their lives. They wouldn't know an oar from a sail. But still, darkness will cloak your escape."

Jeyne nodded and said "I trust in your judgment my lord. Any more news to speak of before you speak of war?"

Jason Mallister looked like he was drinking sea water, but he managed "A raven for your Grace, from your mother in Riverrun."

Jeyne turned on Mallister immediately and asked "What word from my mother? If it is ransom, I will pay."

Jason shook his head and he said "It appears that Lords Karstark, Bolton and Frey were not alone in trying to stop His Grace."

Jeyne took the parchment he offered her and her eyes skipped over the words.

_My daughter;_

_I brand you now and forever a traitor of House Westerling. You are a house of the west, allied to House Lannister and I am disappointed in you. If you had stayed, the Lannisters would forgive you of your crimes and give you a fine Lannister husband and lands. But you ran and condemn yourself this fate. Lannisters hunt your wild beast of a husband and will kill him before the moon turns. I tried to save you, my blood. I killed your bastard child with moon tea and told you what madness this was, but you are tainted and I cast you out from House Westerling. You share no name, no lands and no blood with us. When you come groveling back to our keep and begging for us to take you in, we will bar our gates to you._

_Lady Sybell_

_Lady of the Crag_

_House Westerling_

The parchment fell from her shaking fingers to the floor, and she touched her flat, lifeless belly. Her red head, blue eyed little baby boy, the sweet boy her mother had murdered. She knew of her betrayal, she had announced it after news of the Red Wedding had crept back. She had thrown her in the dungeons and sobbed over the man and boy both that she had lost. It seemed the Lannisters had deemed her worthy to release, after preventing the king in the North from having his heir. She had grieved for them both, until word spread that the King in the North lived, a prisoner in his banner man's castle.

She had heard the word from her little sister what her mother had done, and her mother had confirmed it with a nod, but she had never stated the truth for all to see.

She knew she would be cast from the overly proud, overly ambitious house Westerling, but to see it stated in her mother's hand had still struck her deep.

But she was a Stark now, and she would remain strong.

She took the paper again, and read over the words again.

_Bastard child…_

_Hunt your wild beast of a husband…_

_Traitor…_

She crumpled the parchment and said "My mother has cast her lot with the Lannisters it appears."

Lord Mallister stood and said "Your Grace, I grieve with you over your loss."

Greatjon frowned and asked "What loss?"

Jeyne had not spoken a word of her mother's betrayal as of yet, but she saw no need to shield her mother.

"She had been giving me moon tea under the guise of helpful herbs. She has murdered my child, the heir to the north." She couldn't stop the tremor from creeping into the words child and murdered, but she looked all the men in the eye and she said "I protected her once, but she casts me from my house and she is a Lannister in all but name, face and blood. She is as cold. I cast with the North, my husband and the kingdom that you fight for."

She turned and left, not remembering standing, and for the first time she felt a true queen. Strong, beautiful, but underneath the triumph was the aching knot in her heart that grieved for her husband, lost with little hope in the Riverlands.

**ARYA POV**

"Ride!" Robb roared, and he took the reins in on hand, his splinted fingers clumsy, but he flicked the reins skillfully anyhow and they sped along, racing away from the second party of men with swords after them. Sansa rode ahead, Queen's mane streaming into her face as she bent low over her neck.

Arya glanced back at the bloodthirsty looks in the men's' eyes as they got closer and closer still. They were hungry for blood.

"Hail King!" one shouted, the jape thick in the air "Lost your kingdom, have you?"

Robb said nothing, but she saw his arm tense.

"You lot of bloody bastards!" she cursed back "You couldn't just swallow your pride and have done with it!"

One man, younger than the rest, shouted "Ride King in the North! Ride fast as hell!"

Robb seemed startled. "Olyvar?"

The Frey called Olyvar grabbed the reins of two men in either hand, slowing them and shouting "Ride Your Grace, ride!"

Arya turned back to the road and asked "Who is that?"

"Olyvar, my squire before." He said heavily, and she heard the shouts of "Bastard!" and "Traitor!"

Arya took the reins from Robb, as adrenaline gifted him strength to sit straight and ride, but with a quarrel in one shoulder and broken fingers on the other arm, she knew he was less than a good rider at the moment.

"Sansa, ride!" she screamed, and the wolves howled with her. Sansa looked back and screamed, and Arya had time to turn before jerking back, avoiding the swing of a dagger in one man's fist. Grey Wind, fast as his name jumped his horse and tore his throat out in one swift bite, blood bubbling under his lips and teeth. The horse screamed at the wolf and smell and collapsed under the weight of the horse.

Arya flicked the reins and Cat, heaving air already, picke dup the pace as fast as the exhausted horse could.

Nymeria and Grey Wind dealt with the rest of the riders, and Arya chanced a glance back. Dead and lord horses streamed the ground, and several fallen riders lay on the ground, their blood a dark puddle on the dirt and grass.

"Gods Olyvar." Robb whispered, but more riders were following, coming from the gates like a river of men, steel and horses.

"We have to reach the Neck now!" Sansa shouted back to them.

Arya nodded and they raced alongside, heading toward the edges of the dark, mysterious swamp she last seen a lifetime ago.

Almost as soon as she urged Cat into the thick clogging mud, it swallowed a quarter of the horse's leg. Cat screamed and pulled the hoof from the mud. Sansa glanced back and they followed the half stable Kingsroad nearby, far too slow. Arya glanced back and said "We have to leave the horses."

Sansa looked at her as if she lost her mind, but Arya was already dismounting.

"We can lose them on foot, and they can only travel the Kingsroad. Come on, are you afraid?"

The jab was weak, but Sansa's face steeled and she dismounted, her skills with horses improved then when they first rode south.

Arya swung a saddle bag over her shoulders, sad to see the blanket they had for two nights go. Cat nudged her head at her and Arya said "They'll find you before you die, don't worry."

Sansa helped Robb down, whose quick burst of strength had left as quickly as it had come.

"We have to find Greywater Watch soon, before we die in this swamp." Sansa shied from the thick mud, but Arya felt at home in the forest swamp.

"Come on, we won't find them standing here. The Freys are coming to."

The shouts of men and neighing of horses stirred Robb and Sansa into action. Taking Robb's other arm, she swung it over her shoulder and he limped into the swamp.

Arya looked back at Cat. It felt silly, but she was fond of the horse. She patted Nymeria's head as she came to stand by her.

"I'm a Stark. You're in my territory now Freys." She growled before running after Sansa and Robb.

**Oh, another chapter to the good part. I loved writing Jeyne's POV this time, it just came naturally. Margaery next, and Jon. We haven't heard from them in a while.**


End file.
